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THE MOST FOOLISH 
OF ALL THINGS 



BY 

H. ANTHONY 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1919, by Richard G. Badger 



All Rights Reserved 

if 



Made in the United States of America 



The Gorham .Prtjss, Boston, U.S.A. 

M4R 10 (919 

©CI.A512549 



-we I * 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Most Foolish of All Things . . 9 

The Three Visitors 11 

The Secret of Beauty 13 

Surrender 15 

The Home of the Graces 17 

When Poverty Comes in at the Door . 19 

Which? 21 

The Wanderer 23 

The Great Writer 26 

Paradox 28 

The Whiner 30 

The Stone Mason 32 

Failure 34 

The Angel of Good Gifts 36 

Illusion 38 

A Riddle 40 

A Problem ..." 43 

Good Counsel 45 

The Train of Ignorance 47 

The People ......... 50 

Mists 53 

The Subtle Man 55 

Chains 57 

Interest 59 



Contents 



PAGE 

Verity 62 

A King Among Men 65 

Reflection 68 

Tragedy 70 

The Way to Forget ....... 73 

The Remedy 75 

The Commonplace 77 

The Search 79 

The Birth-Mark .81 

The Absurdest of All Things .... 83 

Justice 85 

The Busy Imp 87 

The Son of Man . . . . . . . .90 

The Poor Preacher 93 

Secrets 95 

The Sinners . 97 

God's Law 99 

Bare Gifts 102 

The Stingy Man 104 

Why? . 107 

Not in So Many Words no 

A Birth . . . . ... . . . . .112 

The Towers 115 

Blind 117 

Reputation .119 

Gladness and Sorrow 121 

Mutation 123 

An Instance 125 

The Treasure 127 



Contents 



PAGE 

The Deceitful Dollar 129 

Sex 132 

Limitation 134 

Male and Female 136 

Consolation 139 

Quite So 141 

The Egg of Dreams 143 

Introspection 145 

Body 147 

The Artist 149 

The Queer Country 151 

Yes 153 

Condescension 155 

A Fable 157 

The Greatest Gift 159 

A Hellish Dream 161 

The Lying Master 163 

An Enemy 165 

The Last Visitor 167 

In Me 169 

The Patient and Faithful . . . .171 



THE MOST FOOLISH 
OF ALL THINGS 



THE MOST FOOLISH 
OF ALL THINGS 

THE MOST FOOLISH OF ALL THINGS 

ONCE upon a time a great ruler caused to be 
sought out the wisest man in all the world to 
come and instruct his subjects. The sage was very 
old, and his beard swept the ground as he sat in 
the chair of honor. He had visited every country, 
travelling both by sea and by land, and had con- 
versed with multitudes of men and women, and 
read all books. 

" And what will be the first lesson that thou wilt 
teach, O sage? " asked the ruler. 

" I know not if I am right," replied the wise 
man, " but it seems to me best to teach thy subjects 
first what is the most foolish of all things, so that 
they may know and avoid it." 

And the ruler said, " So be it." 

Then the ruler caused many of his subjects to 
assemble in the courtyard of his palace before the 
sage. And to them the wise man propounded the 
question, " What is the most foolish of all things? " 

First there rose up the prime minister and an- 
swered, " The most foolish of all things is to tell 
the truth to one's enemies." 

But the sage shook his head in negation. 

Then arose a brilliant and beautifully attired 
9 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

court-lady. She said, " O sage, the most foolish 
of all things is the horrid idea that all men are 
equal." 

" Nay, great madam, thou hast not truly spoken," 
replied the sage. 

The next to answer was a priest of high degree 
and great power, and he spoke as one thereto ac- 
customed. " The most foolish of all things is to 
doubt and rebel against the teachings of our most 
holy church. Hell awaits all schismatics and heret- 
ics. And here on earth they should be — " 

But the sage stopped him, lest he preach a ser- 
mon. " Nay, most august bishop, thou art mis- 
taken." 

Then a very rich man stood up. " O sage," he 
said, " the most foolish of all things is to neglect 
to lay up treasure against the evil days of old age." 

" Nay, not the most foolish," answered the sage. 

Next a famous teacher, the head of a great uni- 
versity, took the word. " I know," said he, " that 
the most foolish of all things is to expect wisdom 
from the unlettered." 

" Nay, not that," replied the wise old man. 

But then the ruler himself became impatient and 
somewhat angry. So he demanded with petulance, 
" What, then, is the most foolish of all things? 
Let's have it and be done with it." 

" O ruler," answered the sage, " the most foolish 
of all things is also the most common, and it is 
scorn, scorn for one's human fellows." 

But with one voice they rejected the sage's teach- 
ings, and straightway drove him from the chair of 
honor. 



10 



The Three Visitors 



THE THREE VISITORS 

A POOR poet sat in his garret and wove into 
melody the words and dreams that God gave 
him. And as he sat, there came a knock on his 
door. He rose and gave entrance to his visitor. 

" I am Riches," said his guest, " and I have come 
to give you a sight of me. Do you not see that 
I am desirable? Yet you have not sought me 
out." 

" I have seen you in my dreams," replied the 
poet, " and then there was, as now, blood on your 
hands." 

" Oh, your vision is warped," said the visitor, 
" there is no blood on my hands, those are but 
rubies of great price. I have murdered no one." 

" Yet, I see millions whom you have murdered," 
said the poet, " and there are lies in your mouth. 
You promise happiness, and you can not give it. I 
fain would be courteous, but I must ask you to 
leave me." 

And Riches departed in great anger, never more 
to visit the poet. 

But hardly was the poet seated again when he 
must rise to admit another stranger. 

" I am Fame," said this visitor, " and I come to 
abide with you forever." 

" Ah, but I think I know the price I must pay 
for your company," said the poet. 

" And what, pray, think you? " asked Fame. 

'* I must pay in envy from my friends and lying 
II 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

scandal from my enemies. And ever will you be on 
tiptoe to take flight from me," said the poet. 

" You have spoken truly," Fame replied, " but 
am I not worth that price?" 

" Nay, verily," said the poet, " one friend doth 
outweigh all that Fame can give, and peace of 
mind is above any price." 

" Adieu, then," said Fame, " I shall not come 
again." 

And soon thereafter came a third visitor, and 
called to the poet to open. And, behold, she was 
a being of great comeliness, and radiant. 

" I know you," said the poet, when his eyes fell 
on her, and I know your sisters. They are Truth 
and Beauty. Oh, will you deign to visit me? " 

" I have come to dwell with you, if you will have 
me," said the radiant guest. 

" Oh, happy, happy me!" cried the poet. 
" What can I have done to deserve so great happi- 
ness, poor, humble me! " 

" You have sung nobly and truly, and that is 
enough to deserve me." 

And the poet rejoiced beyond measure, because 
Love had come to him. 



12 



The Secret of Beauty 



THE SECRET OF BEAUTY 

ONCE upon a time there was a poet who 
dreamed much on the secret of beauty, and 
wondered what it was and wherein it lay. He 
looked at the sunset, and it was beautiful, the 
flowers by the roadside, and they were beautiful, 
as were the songs of women, and flashing gems, 
and the eyes of children, and poems, and pictures. 
He loved them all. But what was it that all had 
in common ? Was it in sound or form or color, and 
in that only? Or was it because he loved them? 

And, behold, he saw coming a fond pair of lovers. 
And he said, " Love goes with beauty." 

But the pair drew still nearer, and he saw they 
were burned by the sun and thin from toil or 
privation. Oh, care had slept with them, and they 
were graven by pain and by sorrow. And yet 
beauty was in them. 

Rapt in thought, he sat musing, and lo! on his 
motionless hand there settled a moth all damasked 
with colors. " And why is it damasked with 
colors? — For its day of love? — Is that why it 
is damasked with colors?" 

So thinking, his glance fell on the ground at his 
feet, and there in writhing embrace lay two naked 
worms. "Do they love? Oh, could they love 
like that moth that is damasked with colors? 
Those two naked worms, slimy, disgusting? Does 
love go with beauty?" 

He lifted his eyes. There floated above him 
13 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

great galleons of clouds wafted by soft evening 
breezes across the expanse of the heavens. And 
the flames of the sunset flared on their canvas. 
" Beauty is there, but no love. Love goes not with 
beauty. Clouds can love nothing. Yet I love 
them, they are radiant with beauty. But not the 
dull ox, which yonder is plodding — he feels no 
love for the clouds, but likewise he sees not their 
beauty — or does he ? Perhaps to one naked worm 
another even so naked and slimy is radiant with 
beauty. Or perhaps a moth, however damasked 
with colors, hath no beauty for the moth mating 
with it. Who knows? 

" I see some beauty, perhaps more than my neigh- 
bor. But he, he sees a beauty in his ugly squat 
wife. Well, let him. I thank God that he does. 
But I am blind to it. Do I thank God that I am? 
Should I thank God for a blindness ? — I don't 
know. — But there must be a beauty in all things 
for the eye that can see it or the soul that can feel 
it> or what was God about when he made them? 

" You know, I believe that beauty makes love 
wake up; — That sounds good, but it is shallow, 
for there are the worms and my neighbor's wife. 

" Oh, the likelihood is that love has nothing to 
do with beauty, and beauty nothing to do with 
love. Where there is sex, there may be only lust — 
and lust is ugly — the naked worm again, slimy 
and disgusting. But that thought too is ugly, and 
I know it is not true. Certainly every other sort 
of love except sexual love is beautiful — say a pa- 
triot's love, or a saint's, or a martyr's, or a mother's. 

" You know, I am going home to pray a while." 



14 



Surrender 



SURRENDER 

ONCE an old man walked on the highway, and 
thought of the days of his youth, for the high- 
way led to the place of his humble beginnings. And 
though his body was too old and too feeble to 
traverse the distance, his mind ran on ahead till it 
reached the end of the road, where lay the old 
farmstead in ruins. And the mind busied itself 
with fond recollections. It dwelt there a while 
recalling father and mother, brothers and sisters, 
and for a moment was cheered, but, then, saddened, 
it returned to the old man shuffling and stumbling 
along the highway. 

And as it entered again into the old feeble body, 
the bald old doddering head, it said to itself, " I 
am tired of this tenement. It is quite worn out. 
It is a burden that I no longer will carry. It is 
the shell of a tortoise. I will leave it, leave it 
forever, and go seek the abode of my early com- 
panions, find where they have gone and embrace 
them, drink in with my eyes their glances of love, 
and on my lips receive their fond kisses." 

But the body found a voice for itself and replied, 
" No, no, don't leave me. I shall rot here without 
you." 

"What can I do?" answered the mind. "You 
are worn out and quite useless." 

" But listen," said the body, " you will need my 
arms to embrace with, my eyes to drink in glances of 
love, my lips to receive any fond kisses. What 
15 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

will you do without them? Ha, you don't know. 
And that's your sole business — to know. You are 
the feeble thing. You can do nothing without me. 
You never have done anything without me. You 
would have been deaf, dumb, and blind, as unfeel- 
ing as a stone, without me. And such may be your 
condition after you leave me. Who knows ? — 
You don't, that is plain." 

" Oh, but I believe I shall be free to come and 
go, and take joy without hindrance." 

" You believe, yes, you believe, but how often, 
I ask you how often, have you been mistaken? 
How many beliefs that you have cherished have 
proved vain and futile? Ah, it is better that you 
should stay with me — safer, more certain. Oh, 
it is far better." 

And the mind was bewildered, filled with doubt. 
It might be that death was also for it, or something 
far worse than death would be for the body. Oh, 
it might be that the voice of the body was true. 
Who could say? Who could tell? 

So the mind clung to the body, the coward mind 
clung to the old, useless, wornout body. 



16 



The Home of the Graces 



THE HOME OF THE GRACES 

ONCE Faith, Love, and Hope set out to find 
a human heart in which they could dwell. 
And they chose first a young woman. She became 
so attractive that she had suitors innumerable, and 
she married the richest. But then Vanity entered 
her heart and waxed so great that it pressed out 
Faith, Love, and Hope, leaving no room for them 
to live, much less to act. And Faith, Love, and 
Hope in human hearts must ever be acting, or they 
will die. 

So the Three fled before death, and crept for 
shelter into the heart of a man who wrote poems. 
And straight his songs found their way to the 
souls of his neighbors. And all of the people vied 
with each other in heaping praises upon him. Once 
more their old enemy intruded itself into the 
dwelling place of Faith, Love, and Hope. Vanity 
came into the heart of the poet, and again the 
graces departed to seek some other lodging. 

So Hope said, ''Where shall we go?" 

And Faith said, "Yes, indeed, whither? Hu- 
manity we can not forsake, or its plight will be 
pitiable." 

" And wherever we go," said Love, " Vanity 
comes to destroy us, and grows and grows until 
there is no room left us." 

11 Yes," said Hope, " I think we must hide in a 
place that Vanity can not find, or finding, would 
starve for lack of a welcome." 
17 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

" But," said Love, " it must not be a place where 
we shall be quite hidden — not that." 

" No," said Faith, " not that." 

" Ah," said Love, " I have it. Come with me." 

And Love took the hands of Faith and of Hope, 
and led them to the heart of a woman who was the 
mother of sons and of daughters. They nestled 
close in the heart of this woman. 

" But will any one see us here? " asked Faith. 

" Yes, they will see us," Love answered. 

" Who will see us?" asked Hope. 

" The sons and the daughters, they will see us," 
said Love. " They know they have but to look 
into the heart of their mother to find the perma- 
nent place of our dwelling." 

" And Vanity, will it intrude? " asked Faith. 

" No, it will not intrude," said Love, " for her 
pride is centered not in herself, but in her sons 
and her daughters." 

So Love and Faith and Hope thanked their 
Creator for the refuge they found in the heart of 
a mother, and abode there forever. 



18 



When Poverty Comes in at the Door 



WHEN POVERTY COMES IN AT THE 
DOOR 

LOVE lived in a cottage. There were honey- 
suckles and roses all around and about the cot- 
tage, and Love looked on them through muslin cur- 
tains, diaphanous and shimmering. Love was happy 
and crooned all the day long, humming the old 
sweet songs, and rejoicing in their fruition. 

The pansies in the yard looked up in the early 
spring time, and smiled in Love's face. And daisies, 
verbenas, and phlox, and petunias came in their 
season. And Love looked on them all, and was 
more happy than ever. 

The spring bloomed and passed, and then the hot 
summer glowed, but scorched not Love's happiness. 
For there were the dahlias and lilies, and the daisies 
still lingered. And Love grew stronger and 
ripened, and joyed in the heat of the summer. Life 
seemed a dream from a beauteous Italian garden 
or a perfume from an oasis of Araby. 

Then came the autumn, and brought with it 
golden-rod, chrysanthemums, tube-roses, a wealth 
and riot of sweetness and color. And Love smiled 
with content in the hazy Indian summer, and dim- 
pled with pleasure in the plenteous abundance of 
October. No shadow of sorrow, no hint of priva- 
tion dimmed even the surface of Love's gladness. 

But alas! with the winter came frost, ice, sleet, 
and a great coldness. All of the flowers in Love's 
garden were frozen. Their bare, empty stalks were 
19 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

blown here and yonder by the cruel winds from 
drear northern regions. The fruitful earth was 
locked up, and all of its brightness and plenty had 
vanished. And there came into Love's cottage a 
miserable stranger, cold and forbidding, merciless, 
unfeeling. 

This horrible stranger thrust his fell visage into 
Love's cottage, stalked in to take possession as if 
he were the owner. Love looked at him aghast, 
shrank back, then knew him. 

" Oh," said Love, " I can not dwell with him. 
Oh, he will kill me. He is so cruel. I know I 
can not dwell with him! " 

And Love, shrieking, fled — abandoned the cot- 
tage, went out into the merciless winter. And died, 
was frozen on the graves of the flowers. 

And next year in the desert of the garden there 
was no perfume or color, but only a whispering 
sound like the sibilant hissing of serpents. 



20 



Which 



WHICH? 

ONCE upon a time there was a man who had 
suffered many misfortunes, but nevertheless 
was serene, seeming to have an inward source of 
content. He had been wealthy, but had lost most 
of his money, and, by consequence, most of his 
friends. He had been falsely accused to the great 
detriment of his reputation. And his health, from 
being robust, had become frail and uncertain. 

The man's serenity became a matter of common 
speculation and gossip in the whole neighborhood. 
Some said that he was too lazy and indifferent to 
worry. Others that he was so hardened as to be 
insensible to ordinary afflictions. Others that he 
was too proud to show his suffering. And still 
others that he must be very religious, and in that 
find his comfort. 

At length, a busybody, overcome with curiosity, 
went to see him, and inquired of him, " Are you 
very religious? " 

" No, not specially," said the man. 

" Well, are you too proud to show any 
suffering? " 

" No," said the man, " I do not think I am 
proud. I believe myself humble, although none of 
us can be sure that pride has been quite cast from 
his heart." 

" Perhaps you have had so many troubles that 
you have become insensible to ordinary afflictions ? " 
said the busybody. 

21 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

" Oh, no, I haven't," said the man, " I feel 
keenly the loss of money, friends, and reputation. 
Who wouldn't?" 

" Oh, well," said the busybody, " you must be 
just lazy and indifferent." 

But at last the man, becoming indignant at this 
catechism, said, " Why do you come putting so 
many questions? By what right do you subject me 
to annoying impertinence? " 

" The whole community has been talking about 
you," said the busybody, " and has been wondering 
why you seem so serene, so undisturbed by your 
flood of misfortune." 

"Indeed!" said the man, "Indeed!" tempted 
at first not to give any relevant answer. But 
reflecting that the feeling was petty, he said, 
" Doubtless, others may have better reasons for 
whatever serenity they muster, whatever tran- 
quillity under misfortune. At times, indeed, I 
think mine is the poorest of all reasons, but, thank 
God, it suffices." 

The busybody fidgeted about, " What is it ? 
What is it ? " he asked with impatience. 

" It simply is this," said the man, " I know 
there is a cure for all earthly ills, and when I 
choose I have the courage to take it. But as yet 
there are still those who love me." 

" Tell me that cure. Tell it me quickly," said 
the busybody. 

" I will," said the man, " it is Death." 

But a lone old man, the oldest among all of the 
neighbors, when he heard the man's saying, de- 
clared, " The man is mistaken. His cure really 
is, that as yet there are still those who love him." 
22 



The Wanderer 



THE WANDERER 

ONCE upon a time there was a man of an 
honest spirit who dwelt in a country whereof 
all of the people worshiped a god. But the man 
of an honest spirit would not worship him. He 
did not inveigh against this god nor against the 
worshipers. But he withheld himself and would 
not bow down. So the people of the country began 
to look upon him as peculiar and stubborn, and 
they regarded him askance, as if he were evil. 

But among these people were some who were 
kindly disposed, and they came to the man of an 
honest spirit, and pleaded with him, saying, " Come, 
bow down. You are growing very unpopular, and 
your business is suffering. Soon you will be poor, 
perhaps a bankrupt, unless you worship our god. 
You must do as others in this community, if you 
wish to get on. You may pretend to worship any 
god you please, so long as you give your real 
allegiance to our god. All of us pretend to wor- 
ship quite another god, as you know, and we are 
polite to each other about that pretence, and get 
on and thrive. 

" We hate to see you suffer. We know you 
mean well, and we like you. But give up your 
foolish attitude of aloofness. There is but one 
real god who will feed you and clothe you. You 
should be sensible enough to know that. Come, be 
practical." 

But the man of an honest spirit said, " I am 
sorry, but for me it is impossible. I can not wor- 
23 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

ship your god, I don't believe in him. And one 
reason is that you will not publicly profess to 
worship him. You come to me confidentially as 
friends — and I am grateful — to help me, and you 
acknowledge that you pretend to worship quite an- 
other god. For some reason you can not, or will 
not, publicly profess your allegiance to your real 
god. Therefore I think he must be evil." 

" Oh, well," said they, " it is an open secret. 
Everybody knows it. It isn't as if we were really 
deceiving anybody. Why, we should be fools 
really to serve the god that we profess to serve. 
We should starve, and quite likely become martyrs. 
So far as we know, most of those who have really 
served him, have become martyrs. We have no 
such ambition." 

" Well," said the man of an honest spirit, " why 
wouldn't it do for me actually to serve your real 
god and publicly profess to serve him and him only? 
I could think of myself as doing that." 

" No, no," said they, " that wouldn't do. You 
would be condemned. ? People wouldn't stand for 
that. You see, you've got to be like other people. 
And the proper thing is to say that you are wor- 
shiping a god who enjoins love and unselfishness 
as the main things. You don't have to do anything 
but say that. Nobody expects you to act that way, 
but you do have to say it. You can't be so simple 
as not to understand that." 

" I understand it," said the man of an honest 
spirit, " but my conscience hurts me when I say 
I serve one god and really serve another." 

"Oh, bosh!" said they, "you are talking about 
your conscience. Does our conscience bother us? 
24 



The Wanderer 



— Not at all. The trouble with you is that you 
think you are better than anybody else. We are 
not asking you to do anything except what every- 
body else does. And, frankly, we don't care 
whether you do it or not. We came to you 
merely out of kindness, and we are done. Take 
our advice or leave it. It's nothing to us." 

They departed in anger. 

And the man of an honest spirit, perplexed, said 
to himself, " It is odd that I must pretend to serve 
God and really serve Mammon. Perhaps I had 
better move to some other country." 



25 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



THE GREAT WRITER 

ONCE there was a man who had a good busi- 
ness and prospered well in the affairs of the 
world. But he was not content. He wished to 
be a great writer. It was his constant prayer to 
become a great writer. His mind was full of 
roseate pictures of glory and joy in the love of his 
fellows that fame would bring him when he should 
become a great writer. 

In the course of time it happened that his busi- 
ness failed, because he no longer gave it undivided 
attention. And the people who before had 
esteemed him, looked down on him now as a fail- 
ure, and thought him a fool to sacrifice a good 
business to an uncertain ambition. And his wife 
became tired of the poverty that followed, and com- 
plaining of his lack of devotion, left him and found 
a more prosperous husband. 

Creditors dogged at his heels and accused him, 
saying that he was a thief and a swindler, because 
he had bought without paying, and could not pay 
when they dunned him. 

His business was gone and his wife and most of 
his friends, for he was unable to return his friends' 
favors. And on top of all this, the publishers 
scorned him, because he was new and his writings 
were different. Still he wrote and wrote despite 
his privations. He was indeed trying to become 
a great writer. 

At last when despair was already clutching his 
26 



The Great Writer 



throat and it seemed that all of his dreams were 
doomed to unending disaster, there was found a 
publisher who ventured to publish some part of 
his writings. For years they were coldly re- 
ceived, but then the public woke up, and acclaimed 
him a master. He was old and tired and deserted 
and lonely. And the thrill of joy that he felt was 
as weak as a moonbeam compared with the bril- 
liant sun of his anticipation. He had merely the 
feeling that perhaps after all his life had not been 
wholly a failure. 

Posterity mentions his name with true reverence, 
saying he was indeed a great writer, but, sighing 
lightly, remarks that he had some sort of financial 
trouble and was not quite happy in his domestic 
relations. And young writers of our later times 
look back and envy the glory of the poor, old, 
broken, lonely man, never realizing the price of 
that glory. 

Oh, but indeed that glory is the endless tribute 
of hearts that he comforts. And the price that he 
paid — who shall say it was out of proportion ? 



27 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



PARADOX 

ONCE upon a time was a wife who discovered 
that her husband was unfaithful, but she 
loved him, so she didn't know what to do. Should 
she reproach him ? No, she might lose him. Should 
she tell him she knew and still not reproach him? 
No, she might lose him. Oh, she didn't want to 
lose him! 

Should she show herself to him more loving than 
ever, more affectionate, more passionate, more 
hungry for love? — She tried it. But the thought 
of the other woman ! Oh, the thought of the other 
woman! It was bitter. It was gall in her hus- 
band's kisses. On his lips was the wormwood of 
the other woman. 

Should she withhold herself, be cold and indif- 
ferent? — She tried it. And more than ever her 
husband was absent from home and fireside. More 
than ever he frequented the abode of his mistress. 
And more than ever she hated to lose him. Bitterer 
than ever the thought of caresses, the besmirching 
caresses of the wanton woman showered on her 
husband, on her own husband. Ugh! The slime 
of them! 

Should she kill the woman? Should she slay the 
viper that had crept into her nest, her nest in the 
heart of her husband? Should she? Should she? 
Oh, how she wished she could. But she couldn't. 
Oh, no, she could not kill. She was too gentle for 
that. She could not kill even a nauseous viper 
28 



Paradox 



coiled in the heart of her husband. And she might 
lose him. And she loved him. Oh, she didn't 
want to lose him! 

Should she win for herself some lover, or appear 
to, and get back her husband through jealousy? 
She tried it. But no, it wouldn't do. She loved 
her husband. The very hands of her lover were 
repulsive to her. She hated his touch. His skin 
shone with cleanness, but she couldn't bear his 
touch. She felt it defile her. So she sent him 
away. 

But it was not right, it was not fair that she 
should go on loving her husband. She would 
strangle that love. She tried it. No, no. She 
could not strangle that. What would be left to 
her? That love had been the world to her. She 
could not strangle that. Her past happiness had 
been given by that love. But her future happiness 
— where would that come from? She must look 
to her future happiness. 

It broke upon her like a dawn that her future 
happiness must come from that love. Not from 
the love of her husband for her, but from her love 
for her husband. That was to remain her treasure. 
Oh, that, at least, she could hug to her bosom. 
That was imperishable. 

And what happened? — Oh, she was irradiated, 
made transcendent, luminous. And her husband, 
seeing, knelt before the holy mystery, entreating 
forgiveness. 



29 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



THE WHINER 

BEHOLD, there was a certain man who be- 
wailed his lot and complained to God con- 
tinually because of his troubles and many distresses, 
saying, " I have such bad fortune, everything goes 
wrong with me. I am not as other men. They 
all have their blessings, while I am the butt of 
every disaster." 

And God was wearied with his whining, so sent 
down an angel with fullest instructions to offer 
the man interchange of identity with some one 
more fortunate. 

And the angel, coming down, said, " God sends 
me here to swap you into the body of the richest 
man that you know, and if you choose, you may be 
he, have what he has, and enjoy it, and he must be 
you to bear your afflictions." 

"What! " said the man, "me be that old man! 
No, thank you. He's all twisted up with rheuma- 
tism. I don't want to be him." 

" Well," said the angel, " you may be the social 
leader in your community. He is young, well- 
to-do, and has the prettiest wife in the city." 

" No," said the man, " I wouldn't be him. He 
is foolish, and his wife is very extravagant. I don't 
want to be him." 

" Perhaps you would like to be the governor of 
the state. He is generally admired and respected." 

" No," said the man, " he has too many responsi- 
bilities and too many enemies. I don't want to be 
him." 

30 



The Whiner 



" All right," said the angel, " my instructions 
are to allow you three days to consider and decide 
who you would be. At the end of that time, I 
will come to hear your decision and fulfil it." 

For two days and nights the man earnestly can- 
vassed in his mind the lot, character, and circum- 
stance of every acquaintance that he had in the 
city. 

On the morning of the third day he was filled 
with contrition, and prayed humbly to God, say- 
ing, " O God, the fault is in me. I have been a 
whiner. I would not swap places with any of my 
fellows. They all have their faults or their 
troubles, which I dislike more than mine own. 
Forgive me. My faults I will amend, my troubles 
I will overcome or endure as I can. Forgive me." 

In such wise have many people been moved to 
contrition. And there is no telling but the angel 
will come to you or to me. Perhaps we dream our 
choice would be different. But by taking thought 
we may save the angel some trouble. 



31 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



THE STONE MASON 

THIS is the story of a stone mason who was 
hired to work on a church, and he was lazy 
and faithless. He said to himself, " The building 
committee will hardly take time to inspect very 
closely the work that I do, for the church is not 
the property of any of them." 

So he laid the stones in their courses but loosely, 
and plumbed them so carelessly that the walls were 
ready to totter before they were finished. And 
as he had foreseen, the building committee were in 
a great hurry, each man to return to his business 
that might afford him a profit. And they did not 
detect the slackness of the stone mason's work. 

And it happened not so very long afterward that 
the debt on the church, incurred for its building, 
was discharged by full payment. So a bishop was 
sent for to dedicate the house to the worship of 
God. And the people felt proud of themselves, 
taking much credit that they had built so hand- 
some a temple. 

The bishop was an eloquent man, and he tickled 
the pride of the people as in the course of his 
prayer he told God Almighty what a wonderful 
folk they were. How good and how pious and 
self-sacrificing to have spent so much of their 
money in constructing an edifice for worship, when 
they might have spent all of this money on personal 
adornment or some other folly. 

But it happened that while he was praying, the 
32 



The Stone Mason 



walls came down with a crash and killed some of 
the people and maimed many others. And the 
mason had come to the service to hear himself 
praised as the builder of the beautiful temple of 
God. He was crushed to death in the ruins. 

The surviving members of the church said it 
served the mason right, and was a judgment of 
God visited upon him. There was another de- 
nomination in the same town, and they said it was 
a judgment of God visited upon that whole church 
for its heretical teaching. But those opposed to all 
churches held that it was a judgment of God 
visited upon the members for ungodly pride in the 
building and hypocrisy in general. The bishop 
said, " Whom the Lord loveth, he chasteneth." 

And the building committee, for obvious reasons, 
agreed with the bishop, but with a mental reserva- 
tion in regard to the mason, on whom they laid all 
of the blame, not even believing that God loved 
him. 



33 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



FAILURE 

THERE was a certain man of family who in- 
herited a fortune, and thereafter in all 
business transactions he was lenient and generous. 
From time to time he sold his lands on easy terms, 
and rented out his houses at a low price. And he 
forbore to collect his revenues when it seemed that 
collection would work a hardship on his debtors. 
All of his debtors praised him and called him a 
good fellow, and they spread the word around that 
no man was compelled to pay him. 

Oft times the tenants who lived in his houses 
would come to him with such tales of sorrow that 
he would remit their rent and lend them his moneys 
to relieve their troubles. And the crops of those 
who had bought his land were always bad, and 
they could not pay interest without depriving their 
families of food and clothing. It seemed to him 
that all the woes of the world piled up on the 
heads of any who came into his debt, and he was 
sorry for them. 

So it went on until at last he must seek out the 
bankers and borrow from them, for his own family 
at home had begun to suffer for lack of ordinary 
comforts. He was an upright man, and known 
to have a large inheritance, so the bankers loaned 
to him readily. But when their interest fell due, 
they insisted on payment, and the man had not the 
heart to proceed against his own debtors, so he 
borrowed from usurers to pay the bankers their 
34 



Failure 



interest. And soon the usurers came snarling at 
his heels, like wolves, for their usury. And now 
claims for both interest and principal were 
showered thick on the unhappy man, and he was 
ashamed to go home to his family, for his wife 
would ask him what had become of his inheritance, 
and he felt that the hearts of his children were full 
of reproaches. 

He went to the lawyers, who persuaded him to 
hire them to sue all his debtors. So he sued them, 
but alas his very leniency was pleaded against him, 
for in many cases the time had elapsed, so that 
he could recover but little, and moreover he made 
enemies of all those who had owed him. His 
dearest wish had been to be regarded as kind of 
heart, and now many people hated him. All that 
he recovered had to be paid to the lawyers, so he 
got nothing by this litigation. 

Bankers and usurers joined forces and swooped 
down upon him, and took from him all of his 
pledges. Even then their demands were not paid 
in full, so they called him a swindler and scoundrel, 
and respectable people avoided him. 

Such was the way that the man told his story, 
but it was not quite true, though he was unaware 
of its falsity. It was not kindness of heart, but 
vanity that ruined him. Too dearly he loved to 
be praised, and so lost all his substance in grasping 
a shadow. 



35 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



THE ANGEL OF GOOD GIFTS 

THE angel of good gifts came to earth and 
stood on a street corner, meaning to stop 
passers-by, and bestow on them a benefit. 

It happened that the first person who came was 
a banker. " What wouldst thou have," the angel 
asked, "to increase thy happiness? " 

And the banker replied, " If only I had another 
million, I should be content." 

As they stood talking, a beggar shuffled by, and 
the angel inquired of him what he wished above all 
things. 

The beggar said, " I would choose a thousand 
dollars, then I should be happy." 

A housewife was passing with a basket on her 
arm. The angel stopped her, and said, " Name 
what thou most desirest, and thou shalt have it." 

And the housewife answered, " Oh, if my hus- 
band's salary were doubled, all of my cares would 
vanish, and I should be so happy.' 

Next came a little child crying. The angel 
caught it up in his arms, and asked, " Why dost 
thou weep? What wouldst thou have?" 

And the child said amid sobs, " I want a penny, 
and Papa wouldn't give it to me." 

Then trudged by a working-man with a scowl 
on his face, and to the angel's query replied, " My 
wages are too low. We are striking for an in- 
crease of twenty per cent." 

" And that would satisfy thee? " 

36 



The Angel of Good Gifts 



" Yes, I shall be happy if we get it." 

A poet, a reformer, a preacher, a lawyer, a har- 
lot — all wanted more money. For God had de- 
creed that every soul questioned must speak truth 
to the angel. 

The angel granted the wish of them all, and 
overjoyed flew back to Heaven. It had been so 
simple and easy. All wanted the same thing, 
whereas the angel had feared that such a variety 
of gifts would be desired as to tax his powers. 

Radiant he came to the throne, " Oh, Father," 
he said, " I have made so many people happy." 

And God answered, " Foolish, foolish angel, 
hereafter thou shalt stay in Heaven." 

And God sent the angel of sacrifice to abide with 
men and lead them along the road to happiness. 
But him will they not follow. They cry out in- 
cessantly for the return of the angel of good gifts. 



37 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



ILLUSION 

ONCE upon a time two pure-minded and inno- 
cent lovers sat with hands clasped each in the 
other's, talking of the future. Their thoughts were 
very happy and their hopes very bright. For each 
believed that in the other was perfection embodied. 
And neither could quell the wonder that either 
was thought worthy by the other to wed such per- 
fection. And in their minds was the picture of 
the home to be — not a grand home, but a sweet 
one, with flowers around it, and musical with the 
voices of children engendered by their love. 

Oh, they were happy! Spirits of the redeemed 
looked down from the ramparts of Heaven and 
rejoiced, because in the lovers they saw a happiness 
equal to their own except in duration. And those 
spirits hoped even that so great a love might sur- 
vive the limits of human mortality and persist in 
the ageless hereafter. They knew, they must have 
known, that such was impossible. But the loveli- 
ness of love cloyed their discernment — a discern- 
ment supernal, far above that of humans. 

And the thoughts of the lovers ran far to the 
future. Through shining years, through joyous 
strength, but they recked not of age or decadence. 
For he said, " We shall love forever and ever." 

And she echoed, "Forever! Nothing shall 
conquer our love, but it will grow stronger and 
stronger." 

And hands tightened their pressure, as lips met 

38 



Illusion 



in the fondest of kisses, and sighs of sweet rapture 
slipped from hearts ravished with passion. And 
instant, immediate was the call of that passion, for 
they were young. Oh, joy! they were young. 

Panting, he whispered, " My angel." 

And she throbbingly answered, " My darling! 
Press me close. Fill me, oh, fill me with love's 
dear ecstasy. I burn for thee." 

"And I for thee!" 

Oh, was this in the long ago? Hush! it is time- 
less, fleeting. It comes and goes — and returns, 
ever seeming to end, but yet never ending. If it 
were yesterday, it will be deathless. If a thou- 
sand years agone, it will be deathless. If to- 
morrow, it will never die. Oh, it will live in the 
memory, in the hopes, of men and of women. It 
is the joy of joys. It is radiant life in full zenith. 

Ah, thou cold anchorite, pity that thou must 
have missed it! Ah, thou beaded nun, feel in thy 
every bead a plashy tear. And vestals of all other 
creeds, weep — but pray your gods for sweet 
imagining. 



39 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



A RIDDLE 

ONCE upon a time a poor man overtook a 
ragged woman on the highway. She was 
carrying a bundle closely wrapped. With the 
freemasonry of the poor he accosted her and 
trudged along by her side. 

At length he asked her, " What have you in that 
bundle that you carry so carefully?" 

" A baby," she answered, " my baby." 

"How old is it?" 

"It is six weeks old, and it is the best little 
thing you ever saw." 

"Where is its father? " 

" I don't know. I haven't seen him for a long 
time." 

" Well, where are you going? " 

" I don't know." 

"You don't know!" 

" No, I don't know. I am just going away from 
somewhere, not to any place." 

And tears ran down her face that he saw now 
was swollen from weeping. 

"Why are you going away?' 

" They told me to go away. They said I 
couldn't stay there any longer." 

" Where were you? " 

" Oh, I was in jail back yonder," she motioned 
with the thumb of her free hand over her shoulder. 

"And they told you you couldn't stay in jail?" 

" Yes, you see, I was sentenced for vagrancy. 
And then the baby came, and they let me stay past 
40 



A Riddle 



the time of the sentence, they said, and they 
couldn't let me stay any longer." 

" Wouldn't they let you work around the place 
for your keep ? " 

" No, they wouldn't do that ; I asked them. But 
they said they couldn't do that. They told me not 
to stay around there. They said for me to go 
away." 

" Aren't you willing to work?" 

11 Yes, I am willing to work." 

" You look strong enough." 

" I am strong, quite strong, and I asked to work, 
but they wouldn't let me. They just kept on say- 
ing for me to go away, so I am going." 

"Well, who is your baby's father?" 

" I don't know." 

"You don't know! " 

" No, I don't really know." 

" Oh, I see, you haven't been a good woman, and 
that was the reason they wouldn't let you stay." 

11 No, I haven't been a very good woman, but I 
told them I wanted to be a good woman and that 
I would be a good woman. They wouldn't be- 
lieve me. They said they had seen my kind before, 
and they told me to go on away." 

" So you are going, and that's all there is to it ? " 

" Yes, that's all there is to it," said the woman, 
" unless," she looked at him meaningly, " unless — " 

" No, no," said the man, " you don't foist your- 
self and your baby on me. Here is a dollar, and 
it is pretty nearly my last one, but take it and buy 
something to eat." 

He handed her the money, and quickened his 
steps so as to leave her behind him. 
41 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

She sat down on the roadside and cried a while, 
for she was tired and hungry. Then she suckled 
the baby. Then the thought of the food that the 
dollar would buy in the next town took possession 
of her. So she rose and hurried on. 

What do you suppose ever did become of her 
and her baby? 



42 



A Problem 



A PROBLEM 

THERE was a great hubbub and outcry in the 
midst of the city. A man accused of the 
crime of rape had been apprehended. 

"Bring him out! Bring him out!" cried the 
crowd, "Hang him! Hang him!" 

He was brought forth. There he stood, gross 
body, bull neck, wide jaws, big chin, sensual lips, 
fleshy nose, pig eyes, back-slanting forehead. 
There he stood. Oh, he was a human brute! 

At the sight of him the anger of the crowd 
waxed stronger than ever. Louder than ever were 
the cries of, " Hang him! Hang him! " 

And loudest of all shrieked a pale, anaemic man, 
who stood in the forefront. There he stood, 
slender body, slight neck, narrow jaws, small chin, 
thin lips, aquiline nose, poet eyes, bulging fore- 
head. There he stood. And his piping voice 
shrilled loudest of all, " Hang him! Hang him! " 
for to him the crime was unspeakably horrible. 

His piercing cry rose so high above all others 
that all eyes were fastened on his delicate face, 
and there was almost a lull but for him. It was 
as if he were elected general accuser to voice the 
wrath of his fellows. And the sense of it thrilled 
his nerves, lashed his overstrung nerves to a climax 
of fury, so that his cries became quite incoherent. 

Stolid, dull, unmoving, save for a slight twitch 
of his muscles, stood the accused. Not even a 
shifting glance seeking a way to escape, for it 
would have been hopeless. 
43 



The Most Foolish of AH Things 

"Burn him! Burn him!" the straining crowd 
caught from the hoarse voice of the accuser re- 
duced to a whisper. And the cry was taken up on 
all sides, "Burn him! Burn him!" 

It was as if an oracle had spoken. And it was 
an oracle that never had felt, that never could feel, 
the mighty surge of lust that had swept through 
the veins of its victim and met there no inhibition. 

Yes, the crowd hurned the accused, whom some 
power had made with gross body, bull neck, wide 
jaws, big chin, sensual lips, fleshy nose, pig eyes, 
and back-slanting forehead — a brute in human 
form. 

Where think you lay the greatest guilt? 



44 



Good Counsel 



GOOD COUNSEL 

AND behold! there was a certain preacher who 
came to preach in a city. As he looked on all 
sides about him, he saw nothing but sin. So he 
rose in the pulpit and denounced all of the people, 
and said they were the disciples of hell. And they 
paid little attention. They came in throngs, it is 
true, to hear what he said, but their conduct they 
changed not. Day in and day out they continued 
their sinning. 

And the preacher grew frantic. He cursed with 
all holy curses in the name of Jehovah the unre- 
generate people. And his fury waxed and grew 
ever greater. And he warned all the people that 
some great disaster would fall on their city if they 
changed not their ways and walked not in the 
paths that he pointed out. But they paid little 
attention, though throngs came out to hear him. 
They sat still and heard him, and then went on 
with their sinning. 

And disaster came not to the city. It basked in 
the sun, harmed neither by fire, earthquake, nor 
tempest. And the people as usual engaged in their 
business. They ate and drank and were merry. 
They wept and died and were buried. They 
married and gave their daughters in marriage. 
They brought up their children, supported their 
families, and worked for a living. They went to 
church and theater. They danced, they said their 
prayers, fooled along, and flirted. 
45 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

And the preacher was stirred to still greater 
anger, so he prayed, " O God in the highest, send 
down to this people some awful disaster. Let the 
storm blow or the earth open or fire come and 
sweep the whole city, so that the people may know 
that thou art a righteous God, exacting thy 
vengeance." 

But oddly it happened that a fire came and de- 
stroyed only the home of the preacher. And some 
were foolish enough to rejoice and say that God 
sent it. And the preacher was so cast down in his 
heart that he sought for wise counsel, and he got it. 

There was an old deacon who told him, " You 
have so long looked for sin that your eyes are 
blinded to virtue. You have uncontradicted ac- 
counted yourself the mouthpiece of God till you 
are puffed up beyond measure. You would destroy 
a people that you can not bend to your will, so at 
heart you are a murderer. And worst of all you 
have forgot that it is love, and not anger, that 
melts men's hearts and inclines them to God. 
Suppose you try forgetting yourself and loving your 
people. They have many virtues, and deserve all 
the love you can give them." 

But I doubt if that preacher could follow the 
counsel. 



46 



The Train of Ignorance 



THE TRAIN OF IGNORANCE 

THROUGH the streets of a city that exists 
in many places at once, but that nevertheless 
is quite real, there passed a procession. It was 
a long procession, and awful beyond words to de- 
scribe it. 

At its head was a gross, misshapen, gibbering 
figure, of enormous proportions, reeling along with 
unsteady gait, a ponderous monster, grinning. His 
name was Ignorance. And all they who came 
after made up his train. 

Close in the wake of the monster marched Un- 
timely Death with a leash in his hand, leading 
behind him his numberless victims. And his 
countenance was fearsome, so vague was it, and yet 
so compelling. It had no fiery fierceness, but a 
cold, impassive malice that froze the beholders. 
And his victims for the most part were babies, but 
there were millions of older children, and youths 
and maidens, and men and women, even to the very 
aged. And a heart-rending wail went up from 
these victims. 

And next came Disease, the satrap of Death, and 
his victims followed, all maimed and twisted, dis- 
torted, deformed, and disfigured. Slowly they 
shuffled, hobbled, crawled along. Disease, looking 
back at them, leered, a slaver trickling from his 
horrid lips, as if he burned to devour their cancer- 
ous bodies. The stench of the throng was past all 
47 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

enduring. And their groans like a constant 
thunder were split with flashes of shrieking. 

And next came Superstition waving a firebrand 
and pressed close by her ministers and votaries. 
Her face was insane. On it flaming fury alter- 
nated with cruel cunning. At her right hand 
marched Intolerance, and on her left Vindictive- 
ness, and behind these a rabble of witches and 
demons, heathen priests, and devils and torturers 
and fanatics and ghouls and medicine-men and con- 
jurers. And the eyes of these were fixed on 
Superstition, and their voices were calling to her, 
claiming rewards for their service. And for proof 
they held up in their hands the bleeding hearts of 
their victims. And the victims followed — wave 
after wave of mutilated bodies and stunted souls 
crying for mercy, but ceaselessly attacked by 
witches and demons and spirits of evil flying above 
and around them and raging among them. 

And next was Tyranny, borne along on a throne 
by courtiers and spies, and followed by an army 
of cut-throats and assassins. And Tyranny was 
decked out in splendor. Gold lace and ribands 
and purple adorned him and his retainers. But 
the sceptre of Tyranny was a thigh-bone, and his 
crown was a skull. And there danced before him 
a band of Furies casting dead men's bones in his 
pathway that his ear might be pleased with their 
crunching. And behind him came crawling his 
subjects with fear in their eyes, their limbs trem- 
bling, and his captives bound with chains, gashed, 
and all bleeding. And the noise of their lamenta- 
tions was deafening. 

Last in the line came hideous Poverty. And his 

48 



The Train of Ignorance 



slaves that followed were wan and despairing. 
And Crime rode on his shoulders. And they all 
slunk along as if ashamed of existence, as if, drawn 
from slums and dark cellars, they could not bear 
the light of day on their faces. Dull and dejected 
and miserable, they made a piteous throng to 
wring the hearts of onlookers. And like a sweat 
from their ranks exuded a sound, a million-fold 
whine of the mendicant. 

So through all of the ages hath marched this 
foul monster. And thousands who watched the 
procession, have turned idly away, saying, "It is 
hopeless, naught can be done, it is hopeless." 



49 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



THE PEOPLE 

THE country was said to be in a bad way. 
And there was a man who made up his mind 
that he would find out what ailed it. So he be- 
gan his search by asking the first person he met 
on the street. 

"Our country," said he, " is in a bad way. 
There seems to be something fundamentally wrong. 
What do you think is the matter with it? " 

" Think?" answered the person, "I know. 
The trouble is that the lawyers are not given the 
power they ought to have. Here are men trained 
in the law, men who have devoted their lives to 
the study of government in all of its phases, and 
how are they treated? Their advice is scorned, 
their opinion is set at naught, and they are made 
a target for abuse and recrimination. Farmers and 
merchants and preachers govern this country. 
What could you expect? They don't know any- 
thing about laws, and they muss everything up till 
it is disgusting." 

" I take it that you are a lawyer," said the man. 

"Yes, lam, but— " 

The man waited to hear no more, but walked on. 
He had not gone far when he met another person, 
who looked rather important and knowing, so the 
man stopped, and to this person propounded the 
same query. 

" Ah, yes," said the person, " our country is in 
a deplorable condition, and the source of the 
50 



The People 



trouble is the general neglect of the teaching of 
the church and the lack of respect for her ministers. 
Lawyers, many of whom are infidels, govern the 
country to the detriment of religion. Why, the 
laws allow all kinds of shows to remain open on 
the holy Sabbath, trains to be run, newspapers to 
be printed, and all sorts of secular business to be 
carried on. What could you expect? The min- 
isters of the gospel are scorned and ridiculed, and 
have no power to enforce the decrees of God. No 
wonder the country is headed straight for 
destruction." 

" I take it," said the man, " that you are a 
preacher." 

"Yes, I am, but— " 

The man waited to hear no more, but walked 
on till he met a person who looked rural, and to 
this person he put the same question. 

" Yes," he was answered, " the country is in a 
bad fix, and I don't see any way out of it. And 
why? — Because the farmers are the backbone 
of the country and the salt of the earth, and no- 
body gives them a show. That's why. Rascally 
lawyers make the laws, and they make them for 
their own advantage, so that the farmers have to 
pay for everything. And the merchants cheat the 
farmers all of the time, and the preachers are 
always taking up collections. The farmers have 
to support everybody, and don't have any say about 
anything in this country, and everybody makes fun 
of them. It is easy enough to see what ails this 
country." 

" I take it," said the man, " that you are a 
farmer." 

5i 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

" Yes, I am, but — " 

The man waited to hear no more, but walked 
on till he met a person very dapper and brisk in 
his movements, and of this person he asked the 
same question. 

And this was the answer, " Oh, well, the busi- 
ness man has no chance. Every merchant is 
hampered and pestered by a multiplicity of fool 
laws made by lawyers and farmers and preachers, 
till it is almost impossible to carry on business. 
What this country needs is a business administra- 
tion, but I don't think it ever will get it. There 
are too many demagogue lawyers and fool farmers 
and bigoted preachers. Oh, no, a man in business 
is the last to get any consideration." 

" I take it," said the man, " that you are a 
merchant." 

"Yes, lam, but—" 

The man waited to hear no more, but walked 
on. He had found what it was that ailed the 
country. 



52 



Mists 



MISTS 

A HERMIT dreaming on a mountain side of 
men and things soliloquized : — 

" In the valley below is a mist, and through it 
stretches a highway. I sit here and peer at my 
fellow mortals. Not a one of them can I see 
clearly. Nebulous and shadowy are their faces, 
and their motions are made to me to seem 
grotesque. 

" In places and at times the mist thins itself 
or is thinned, is so attenuated that almost I fancy 
I can see some passenger as he is. For one brief 
moment his lineaments emerge lit up by the light 
above him and me. But the next instant is he 
again enveloped, and I have only the memory of 
the gleam. If I could, I would dissipate the ever 
changing fog. I would blow upon it with mighty 
lungs, and drive it from the valley. But to me 
that is impossible. 

" Or if I could, I would so strengthen the power 
of my eye that its gaze would penetrate the mist 
like light through the clear ether. Oh, I would 
love to see my fellows as they are. I would love 
to read on their faces the motions of their hearts. 

I would love to sympathize with their every feel- 
ing. But how can I when I can not see? To me 
they are like flitting ghosts in veils enshrouded." 

There came to the hermit an angel, whispering, 

II O man of holiness, descend into the valley." 

" Nay, my home is on the mountain side, where 
53 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

I can breathe the pure air of heaven. I should 
suffocate in the valley." 

But the angel was urgent, and would not be 
withstood, " Nay, go thou into the valley." 

So the hermit, gathering his gown about him, be- 
gan the descent. And as he proceeded, the mist 
grew ever thinner. And lo! when he reached the 
highway on which toiled his fellow mortals, all 
was clear sunlight, the bright whitness of a sum- 
mer day. And the passengers along the highway 
were no longer shadowy or nebulous, but every man 
of them appeared in his proper color. And on 
his face was written his joy or his sorrow. 

And the hermit, looking back up the mountain 
side, saw that he had been sitting in a cloud. 



54 



The Subtle Man 



THE SUBTLE MAN 

ONCE there was a very subtle man who wished 
to win other people to carry out his purposes. 
And he met a wine-bibber, who drank more than 
any of his neighbors. And the subtle man praised 
the wine-bibber, saying, " Lo, you can drink more 
than any other man I ever saw. You can drink 
as much as you please, and it never does hurt you. 
You have a special power. You are an exceptional 
man." 

And he met a libertine who had ruined a great 
many women. And the subtle man praised the 
libertine, saying, " You have a way with the 
women. They can not resist you. You have a 
special power. You are an exceptional man." 

And he met a miser who had amassed vast 
hoards of money, so that his vaults were crammed 
full to their bursting. And the subtle man praised 
the miser, saying, " You are the richest man in the 
country. You can outwit all who scheme against 
you. You are too shrewd for them all. You have 
a special power. You are an exceptional man." 

And he met an evangelist who had won converts 
until they were like mullet for numbers. And the 
subtle man praised the evangelist, saying, " You 
are the greatest preacher of the age. No sinner 
can harden his heart against your appeals to his 
conscience. You have a special power. You are 
an exceptional man." 

And he met a waiter in a restaurant who could 
55 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

bring in a multitude of dishes at one time. He 
heaped them up in pyramids almost Egyptian, and 
none ever fell or was broken. And the subtle man 
praised the waiter, saying, " You are the best 
waiter in this whole city. There is none other 
like you. You have a special power. You are an 
exceptional man." 

And he met a street-sweeper, who cleaned the 
streets of dirt, dung, and oflal. He swept a wider 
space and swept it cleaner than did any of his 
fellows. And the subtle man praised the street- 
sweeper, saying, " You are the best sweeper in any 
of the gangs. None of them can come near you. 
You have a special power. You are an exceptional 
man." 

And the subtle man had his way with them all. 



56 



Chains 



CHAINS 

IN a mad-house he sat and moaned all the day 
long of chains, chains, chains. Everywhere 
chains, and on everybody. Chains wound about 
every son and daughter of man and woman. 
Hands, feet, head, and soul bound fast in chains. 

" What is love but a chain binding one to an- 
other — hampering the free impulses of the spirit? 
My love binds me, and your love binds me. I can 
not do what I would — that love holds me. Oh, 
I would seek out far lands, and I can not. I 
would sacrifice myself for a noble purpose, and 
I can not. I would be an artist, a soldier, a saint, 
a martyr, and I can not. That love constrains 
me. That love holds me in the narrow ruts of 
sordid ways. I can not loose myself, and it is the 
chain of love that strangles my spirit. 

" And the chains of custom ! What I did 
yesterday that must I do to-day. What you and 
a thousand others did yesterday that must I do 
to-day. What men long dead and rotten did in 
their puny time, must I do to-day. Oh, I am 
smothered, I am suffocated, so heavy is the weight 
of custom's chains. And if I strive to burst them 
asunder ! Idle 'old slaves sit by and mock my strug- 
gles. ' Fool ! ' they say, * he strives to be free.' — 
They would kill me rather than see me free. They 
have killed others, and me too would they kill. 
My freedom would reproach their slavery. 

" And the chains of hate ! I hate you, and I am 
57 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

bound by it. Every hate I cherish or foster is a 
chain, and I can not free myself of hate, nor envy, 
nor avarice, nor pride, nor lust. And each of 
them is a chain. I am enwrapped by them. I am 
involved in them, tied fast as with triple steel, 
nay, bound fast by these like a Laocoon crushed by 
nauseous snakes. Stronger are they than steel — 
and alive! Oh, the horrid stench of them! Oh, 
the hot breath and the coldness of them! And 
the gods — they laugh at me. They fastened 
these chains about me. I didn't do it. Not I. 
Out of the depths of chaos the gods summoned 
these living chains to press the soul out of me. 
As a punishment? — Yes, as a punishment for 
crimes committed by others. So I am told. My 
fathers sinned, and for their sins these hideous 
coils tighten around me. 

" Is it to wonder that I am mad? You, you 
too are bound, and they call you sane. Ah, God! 
a madness, a thousand madnesses, rather than such 
stupidity! " 



58 



Interest 



INTEREST 

ONCE upon a time there was a country that 
groaned under a burden of great taxation, and 
both people and rulers were in despair, for a new 
war threatened, and more money must be raised. 
And the rulers looked diligently about to discover 
what tax could be added, but the people trembled, 
for hardly could they bear what was already upon 
them. 

And there came out of the wilderness a poor 
hermit who long had reflected in solitude on the 
woes of his country, and he brought with him a 
message that stirred up his hearers. Tidings came 
to the rulers that sedition was likely in that part 
of the country where roamed the mad hermit. 

So the rulers sent down an armed guard that 
took the hermit and brought him up to the city 
where dwelt the rulers. " What is this new mes- 
sage," they asked him, " that thou scatterest abroad 
to the harm of the people? " 

M Nay, my masters," answered the hermit, " not 
to the harm of the people, not that — but I will 
gladly declare it to you." 

" Do so at once," commanded the rulers. 

" When I was a young man and went much 
about among the people," said the hermit, " I ob- 
served that always the most prosperous were the 
lenders of money. They were the fattest and 
sleekest. When drouth or flood or other disaster 
fell on the country, the lenders of money were the 
59 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

last to suffer. And most often indeed they grew 
richer, for the goods of their neighbors, already 
distressed, were forfeit to them. So that most of 
the people were subject not so much to the govern- 
ment as to the lenders of money, who were em- 
powered by law to exact from their neighbors a 
usury called interest." 

" Yea, such is the law," answered the rulers. 

" I have since then reflected," continued the 
hermit, " that money is purely the state's creature. 
No citizen is ever permitted to coin any money, 
though he have uncounted stores of gold and of 
silver. Am I right, O ye rulers? " 

" You are right," answered the rulers. 

" Well, I see then no reason," spoke out the 
hermit, " why the state should not derive all of 
the benefit from its own creature." 

" Meaning what? " asked the rulers. 

" Enact a law forbidding any man to charge any- 
thing for the loan of his money," answered the 
hermit, '* and providing that the state alone shall 
have the right to receive interest, making the 
penalty the same as for counterfeit coinage." 

" But what would become of those who must 
borrow money? " 

" Let the state lend it to them on the same sort 
of security as is now demanded by those who 
prosper so greatly at the expense of the people." 

" But what would it profit the thrifty to save 
against age or misfortune? " 

" The state could borrow all savings at some low 
rate of interest, because the debt would be safe for 
the lender. His risk would be nothing, because the 
state would repay when he wished it." 
60 



Interest 



" Oh," said the rulers, " and the rate paid by 
the state would be lower than that it received on 
its lending? " 

• " True," said the hermit, " and the difference 
need not be great, one or two per cent on all of 
the loans in the country would provide for all its 
expenses, and taxes could be decreased or abolished, 
and the people would no longer be subject to lend- 
ers of money, but their whole allegiance would fall 
to the state." 

" And what would become of the lenders of 
money? " 

" Some of them could be employed by the state 
at a fair salary to lend out the state's money. The 
others could engage in some business that would 
increase the real wealth of the country, such as 
manufacturing or farming or mining or building." 

But the rulers decided that the hermit was crazy, 
and cast him in prison. 



61 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



VERITY 

ONCE upon a time a ruler in the dominion of 
knowledge summoned before him his principal 
vassals and required of each a statement of plans 
and of purpose, a reason for being. And the names 
of these vassals were Art and Religion and Philoso- 
phy and Science. 

To the question propounded the answer of Art 
was, " I seek out beauty and express it, to promote 
human happiness." 

And of Religion, " I seek out the rules of right 
conduct and explain them, to promote human 
happiness." 

And Philosophy said, " I seek out the truth and 
divulge it, to promote human happiness." 

And Science replied, " I seek out knowledge and 
classify it, to promote human happiness." 

11 So all of you are working to promote human 
happiness? " said the ruler. 

" Yes, all of us," they answered. 

" Why, then, is there not more human happi- 
ness? " asked the ruler. 

" Because men are lazy, and will not think," an- 
swered Science. 

" Because men are stupid, and can not think," 
said Philosophy. 

" Because men are blind, and can not see," an- 
swered Art. 

" Because men are selfish, and will not sacrifice," 
said Religion. 

62 



Verity 

" So the whole fault lies in men, and none in 
you," said the ruler. 

" Yes," said they, " the fault is in men." 

" Yet, if there were no men, not a one of you 
would have any excuse for being? " asked the 
ruler. 

" No," said they after some hesitation, " we 
wouldn't." 

" Well," said the ruler, " you have been working 
on men a long time, and you haven't accomplished 
much, what do you propose for the future? " 

" It is this way," said Art, " often when I have 
created something of the greatest beauty, Religion 
attacks and seeks to destroy it." 

" And I," said Philosophy, " have always been 
thwarted and persecuted by that same religion." 

" And I," said Science, " have been compelled by 
Religion to fight for my life in ceaseless struggle." 

But Religion answered, " Art disregards me, 
Philosophy flouts me, and Science denies me. 
What am I to do? I must live." 

The ruler pondered. For a long time he sat 
rapt in reflection. At last he spoke, " I have long 
desired that men should be happy. Most of them 
are not happy, and have never been, hence this 
conference. It is time that some real progress 
were made. 

" Religion, you are the oldest, and you have the 
commonest fault of age, which is intolerance. All 
of the others are really your children. They 
SDrang from you. It is true that they often fail in 
filial reverence, but you have been jealous and 
afraid. You have feared that they would snatch 
from you your dominion over the hearts and minds 

63 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

of men, hence you have often been harsh, stubborn, 
and unreasonable. For this you deserve censure. 

" And you, the rest of you — Art, Science, and 
Philosophy — each of you has sought at times to 
supplant his father. Know now for all time that 
that is impossible. It can not be done. And 
there has been much scorn and bickering among 
you, each claiming to be greater than the others. 
That is foolish. Stop it. All three of you are 
necessary, as also is Religion. 

" The reason why all of you together have not 
done more for the promotion of human happiness, 
is that you have not worked together. Ultimately 
you must work together. It is inevitable. So 
why not begin now? You have been as blind, 
stupid, and selfish as you have said men are. 
Haven't you ? " 

" Perhaps we have," said Philosophy in their 
common defense, " but may I speak openly? " 

" Proceed," said the ruler. 

" Well, for some reason or other, while working 
for men, we have been compelled to work solely 
through men. We have had to depend on men to 
interpret us, to give us a voice. I ask you is that 
fair? Must it ever be so? " 

"Whether fair or not," said the ruler, "it must 
ever be so. Men can understand only what comes 
through men." 

" Alas ! " sighed they all, " the time will 1 be long." 



64 



A King Among Men 



A KING AMONG MEN 

ONCE on a time there was a king who coveted 
wider dominions. He looked all about him 
where lay the well-ordered lands of neighboring 
nations, and found them fair and desirable. So 
in his own heart he said privily, " I will take 
them," 

He set to work then to raise a great army, and 
made every man of his kingdom; into a soldier. 
And he gathered from the four corners of his realm 
a great treasure, and caused to be forged number- 
less weapons of war. And while this was a-doing, 
he entered into covenants with all neighboring 
nations to preserve peace between his people and 
theirs, feigning to fear that some would attack him, 
and professing a love for the blessings of peace. 
But in his own heart he said privily, " So I will 
blind them." 

And it came to pass that all was ready — the 
soldiers, the treasure, and the weapons. And the 
neighboring nations slept in a false security, lulled 
by their faith in the treaties. And the king com- 
manded his armies to make a sudden onrush upon 
the nearest of the neighboring nations. And this 
they did, spreading death and destruction and 
anguish and woe and desolation. And the king 
rejoiced in his heart saying privily, " To this I 
will add all of the others, and rule over them all." 

But lo! this nearest of nations gathered up all 
of its strength, and held back the armies of the 

65 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

king till other nations could make ready and 
assemble their hosts to defend their homes and 
their firesides. And the king was angered, and 
commanded that the people of the nearest of na- 
tions should be tortured and starved and crucified, 
and their women outraged and deflowered. And 
it was done by his soldiers. And the king rejoiced 
in his heart, saying privily, " So will I strike terror 
into all of the others." 

But the king was mistaken, for all of the other 
nations formed a league against him, and opposed 
him with numberless soldiers and countless weapons 
of war. And multitudes of the soldiers of the 
king were slain. And into the realm of the king 
crept hunger and misery and death, insomuch that 
his people began to murmur. Then the king told 
his people that God was with him, directing him 
in all things. But in his own heart he said privily, 
" There is no God, but so will I fool them, and 
stir them to still greater effort to win for me wider 
dominions." 

And he did fool them. And they made ever 
greater sacrifices, and strove ever more valiantly in 
the name of patriotism and religion, believing that 
they were fighting a holy war and suffering for the 
defense of their country. And the king gave them 
iron crosses and medals for their bravery, and 
praised them, calling them heroes. But in his own 
heart he said privily, " What fools they are! I 
hold myself safe, and they give up their lives and 
the lives of their kindred that I may get wider 
dominions. What fools they are! " 

But the time came when the soldiers of the 
neighboring nations defeated and drove back the 
66 



A King Among Men 



armies of the king. And the king's own people 
rose up against him, saying, " We have been fools. 
We have debauched ourselves and murdered our 
neighbors. God have mercy upon us! " 
And they took the king and hanged him. 



6 7 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



REFLECTION 

A CERTAIN honest man fell among thieves, 
who beat him and stripped him of all he had. 
As they divided their booty, the beaten man 
groaned loudly, and some feeling of pity stirred 
their hearts, but it was stilled by the oldest and 
wickedest among them, who said, " If the truth 
were known, he is probably no better than we are. 
Somehow or other he stole what he had, and I'll 
bet on it." 

So there was a lecher sitting in church listening 
to the sermon of a pious preacher famed for his 
purity of thought and life, and the preacher was 
denouncing the sins of the flesh. The lecher was 
moved with remorse and contrition, but he stifled 
them by saying to himself, "If the truth were 
known, he is no better than I am. He is smoother, 
that's all. And I'll bet the sisters of the church 
could tell some queer stories if they were a mind 
to." 

After the service the respectable women who 
were in attendance, filed decorously out carrying 
their prayer-books. And a harlot who happened 
to pass on the other side of the street, saw them, 
and was filled with a feeling of shame and of 
yearning, but she quelled it by muttering, " If the 
truth were known, they are no better than I am. 
They haven't been found out, that's all, the minc- 
ing hypocrites." 

So a foul murderer stood before a just and up- 
68 



Reflection 



right judge to be sentenced. And the judge added 
to the sentence some words of commiseration, and 
his voice shook with pity for the condemned. The 
murderer was touched by the judge's sympathy, and 
felt some impulse to repentance, but he throttled 
it by thinking. " If the truth were known, he is 
no better than I am. And he sits up there pre- 
tending to be so high and so mighty. May God 
damn him ! " 

And the man who was robbed was honest, and 
the preacher was pure, and the women coming out 
of the church were chaste, and the judge was up- 
right and just. 

But each of us looks at his fellows through a 
glass that is too often merely a mirror. 



69 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



TRAGEDY 

ONCE upon a time there was a husband who 
suspected the fidelity of his wife, for she was 
quite fond of an officer accustomed to visit their 
home. But soon after the suspicion arose, the 
officer was ordered to a far country, where he was 
killed. So the husband said nothing. 

In the course of time the wife bore a son. 
Hardly could the husband restrain his anxiety till 
the birth to examine the child's features, so fearful 
was he of his honor. He could not wait for the 
child to be brought for inspection, but on its first 
wail, slipped into the room of his wife to peer at 
its face. But that revealed nothing. The feat- 
ures were as yet undertermined. 

But the wife, though weakened by travail, was 
aware of his presence, and whispered, " Oh, John, 
it is a boy, and he is your image." 

Then at the word of the doctor, the husband 
retired from the room and said nothing, but there 
was in him a hope that the eye of the mother 
could detect a resemblance not apparent to him — 
a wild hope, a precious hope. 

Months went by, slipped into years, and the 
boy's features took shape and developed. Ever it 
was the custom of the wife to point out to the 
husband how the boy was his reproduction. 
" Look at his eyes," she would say, " they are yours. 
And his mouth and his ears, his form and com- 
70 



Tragedy 



plexion. You ought to be proud. He is you over 
again." 

And the husband did look, but what he saw was 
quite different. Each passing month brought 
clearly before him some hated resemblance to the 
man who was dead. There was a trick of the 
eye-brow altogether exact, a curve of the nostril, 
even a mode of moving the hands, and shape of 
the fingers. 

He no longer had a suspicion, he was certain. 
His wife had betrayed him, and was lying to seal 
the deception. What should he do? What could 
he do? He brought himself to decide that what- 
ever was right he would do it. Whatever it cost, 
he would do it. 

For the woman he felt naught but deep loathing. 
But there was the child with its life all before 
it — and innocent. Should it bear the burden? 
Was it right that the child should bear the horrible 
burden? He could not love the child. No, not 
that. He could not love it. Yet, the child had 
done no wrong, and ought never to know. The 
child must be spared the fatal blight of that 
knowledge. 

But how punish the woman without hurting the 
child? His mind busied itself with that problem, 
but his behaviour was such that the woman never 
suspected. He caressed her as of yore, and she 
thought him a fool blinded by her words. She re- 
joiced in her heart that he was a fool blinded by 
her words, but fear slept with her, grisly fear 
slept with her. 

He might have secretly killed the woman, but 
he would not stain his soul, though it were better 
7i 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

for the child to be motherless than have such a 
mother. He would not stain his soul — nor was 
it in his heart to help the child, he could not reach 
to that. Not to hinder was all that he could com- 
pass. That tried his strength to the utmost. 

The problem was never solved. He died. And 
the weak woman, thinking on him, was overcome 
with a tardy repentance. She felt the need of con- 
fession. She yearned for confession, as aforetime 
she had yearned for the officer. And she confessed 
to the child. Oh, God, she confessed to the child ! 



72 



The Way to Forget 



THE WAY TO FORGET 

ONCE upon a time there was a man who had 
done many things of which he was ashamed. 
They were secret things, and known to no one else 
in the wide world save himself alone. Neverthe- 
less he could not shut them from his memory. His 
mind dwelt on them continually. So he became 
restless. He could not sleep at night. And in the 
day he could not bear to be alone, but sought ever 
to surround himself with a crowd, so that his 
thoughts might be diverted from the recollection of 
the shameful deeds. 

But even in the midst of a company he could not 
wholly forget. For there would come moments of 
silence in even the gayest throng. So the man was 
dismayed. He had resolved never to confess to a 
living soul, but in himself he could find no comfort. 

" I will forget," he would say, " I will forget." 
And he would gird himself to the effort. But he 
could not forget. 

At length he realized that of himself he could 
not forget, but must seek aid from some other. 
And he pondered where he should seek it. From 
priest or physician? From parents or friends or 
the wife of his bosom? 

But no, he would not confess to any of these. 
He could not bear for them to know that he had 
been so guilty. He was filled with despair. 
Should he go to a stranger?— No, for the 
stranger would have forever a handle upon him. 
He could not go to a stranger. He dared not trust 
any stranger. 

73 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

One day on the street he encountered a beggar, 
an old man, feeble and dirty and quavering. And 
the beggar was very persistent, catching the man 
by the sleeve to detain him and tell him a tale of 
privation and sadness. 

But the man answered, " Your sorrows are noth- 
ing. They can be cured with a pittance, while 
mine are so great that no money can cure them." 

" Oh, come with me," said the beggar. 

And the man, on the whim of the moment, fol- 
lowed the beggar, and was led by the tottering 
steps of the beggar to a hovel, where dwelt in. 
squalid disease the beggar's old wife, betrayed 
daughter, and bastard grand-child. 

" Look at these," said the beggar, " and at me." 

" Oh, I must help you," said the man, " I must 
help you." 

And straightway he sent for a doctor and clothes 
and food and a wagon, and women and men to: 
wash these foul people and clothe them in clean- 
ness. And he helped in the task. All that day he 
spent in relieving them and cleaning them and mov- 
ing them to comfortable quarters. 

When night came, he left them, to return to his 
home. As he walked on his way, all of a sudden 
he started, " By Jove," he said, " by Jove, I for- 
got! Oh, thank God, I forgot! I have found 
it. I have found it. I have found the way to 
forget. Oh, never, never, shall I forsake it ! " 

And afterward the man was happy, for he was 
ever piling acts of kindness on his past deeds of 
shame, until at last they were quite covered up out 
of all sight of his memory. 

74 



The Remedy 



THE REMEDY 

ONCE there lived a man who was deeply in 
debt, for he and his family spent more than 
he made. And the man was harassed and be- 
wildered. It seemed to him that every time he 
paid a bill, two more came in to take the place of 
the paid one. And he was at the end of his wits. 

He hated to tell his wife and his children, be- 
cause, after all, they spent no more than their 
neighbors. And the man was afraid his wife 
would think him a failure. And he was afraid 
also he would lose the esteem of his neighbors. 
For indeed he was proud, and had held his head 
as high as the next one. So he didn't know what 
to do. 

Life lost its charm for him, and he was fast 
becoming morose and embittered. This month he 
put off paying one man, and the next another, hop- 
ing at least to preserve some sort of credit, and 
praying that something might happen to make his 
business more profitable. He could hardly sleep 
at night, and his days were full of dreadful anxiety. 

" Oh," said he to himself, " I am ruined. 
There is no way out except to increase my income 
or decrease expenses. And neither of them is for 
me possible. Oh, I can not endure it." 

The dark angel of death peered over his shoulder 
and whispered, " Come to me. I can relieve you, 
free you from worry, give you rest from all care 
and distresses. Come with me." 
75 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

And half was he tempted. But the thought of 
his family, how they would fare worse then than 
ever, withheld him. And at last he decided that 
he would give up all efforts to bolster his credit 
by indirect shifts, would be frank and open. So he 
sent word to all whom he owed to assemble at the 
place of his business. 

They came, and he told them the state of his 
business. They sat and listened. And many of 
them were more experienced than the man who was 
deeply in debt. And when he had finished telling 
what he had and he hadn't, they conferred one with 
another, and appointed a spokesman, who said to 
the man so deeply in debt, " We have listened. 
We thank you for what you have told us. We 
are fully convinced that you are quite honest. And 
we believe it would be to our profit to give you 
more time. The trouble with you, in our judg- 
ment, is that you have not conducted your busi- 
ness so as to get the most out of it." 

And then he went on to make wise suggestions. 
And the man, as he listened, wondered that he 
never before had thought of the things that the 
spokesman was saying. They seemed now so plain 
and so simple. And he could hardly refrain from 
embracing the speaker, as the way out of his 
troubles was made clearer and clearer. 



7 6 



A Commonplace 



A COMMONPLACE 

ONCE upon a time a man met a woman who 
lived in the district set aside for harlots, and 
he fell into talk with her. She told him some 
things about her past life, and some things she with- 
held. And some of the things were true, but many 
of them were untrue, for the woman was a great 
liar. 

She said that she had come of respectable parents, 
had been well brought up and educated, had sung 
in a church choir, and had been married to a rich 
man who had deserted her, and left her to fight 
with the world as best she could, and that she 
never had harmed anybody, and never had done 
any wrong, and had taken to an evil life to escape 
starvation. As she told her tale she pitied herself 
greatly, and at the end she buried her face in her 
hands, and wept bitterly. 

But the man said, " Surely there must have been 
some reason. Did you love your parents and obey 
them?" 

" Yes," she said, " I did." 

" Did you attend the church and believe in its 
teaching? " 

" Yes," she said, " I did." 

" Were you faithful to your husband and 
considerate ? " 

" Yes," she said, " I was." 

" Well," said the man, " I am puzzled. You are 
sure that you harmed no one, and yet every one 
77 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

was against you — that is odd. But I have a 
suspicion." 

" You needn't be suspecting me," said the 
woman, " I don't care anything about your sus- 
picions. Take it or leave it just as I have told it. 
To hell with you." 

" No," said the man, " you do care, and you wish 
to know what that suspicion is." 

" I don't," said the woman, but she lingered 
and did not pass on. 

" I suspect," said the man, " that you were al- 
ways trying to do one thing, and your parents and 
the church and your husband were always object- 
ing, and stood in the way." 

" You are a liar," said the woman, " I wasn't." 

" You were," said the man, " and I know it." 

" I wasn't,'" said the woman, " I never did do 
anything but try to have a good time." 

"Alas! one more," said the man, and left her 
there wondering. 



78 



The Search 



THE SEARCH 

LONG ago in ancient times there was a man 
who travelled about looking for something. 
He began the quest early in life, and it lasted to the 
day of his death, so that he came to be known as the 
greatest of travellers. He sought always one and 
the same thing, but he never could find it. 

He lay on his death bed, and friends gathered 
around to comfort him, " You have travelled 
widely," they said, " and have seen much, and you 
are a wise man. It grieves our hearts to know 
that you must so soon start on the last great 
journey. Perhaps there is something we can do, 
some last wish that we may fulfil." 

" There is," said the traveller, " but I may con- 
fide it to only one of you. Therefore I pray you 
cast lots to determine which one it shall be." 

Lots were cast, and all of the friends, except the 
one on whom the lot fell, withdrew from the room. 
To him turned the traveller, and said, " O friend, 
when I was a young man, Minerva, the Goddess 
of Wisdom, entrusted to me the task of bestowing 
on one of the sons of men a precious gift, but it 
could be bestowed only on a man of a certain kind, 
and him have I sought my whole life through with- 
out finding. The lot has fallen on you. Doubt- 
less you are chosen of the gods. Will you accept 
the mission and continue the search after I shall 
have been joined with my fathers? " 

"Must I travel as widely as you?" asked the 
friend. 

79 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

" That I know not, "answered the traveller, " you 
may find the man to-day or to-morrow or never. 
You may find him, in this city or on some distant 
plain or nowhere, but at any rate you will be a 
messenger of the Goddess of Wisdom, bearing a 
precious gift. Will not that be honor sufficient?" 

"It is enough," said the friend, " I pray you 
instruct me." 

" When you find the man," said the traveller, 
" you are to deliver the gift, and he then in turn 
will become a messenger of the Goddess of Wis- 
dom and find two more men like himself and share 
the gift with them. And each of these, two other 
like men, and share the gift with them, and so on 
in broadening succession, for the gift is capable of 
infinite division without diminution, as becometh a 
gift of Minerva. Or if you fail, as I have done, 
then entrust the gift to a friend that survives you, 
as I now am about to entrust it to you." 

" What is that gift? " asked the friend. 

" It is the true secret of happiness," answered the 
traveller, " I have it here traced on this parchment." 

"What is that secret?" 

" I know not. I could never decipher it. It 
can be read only by a man of a certain description, 
and him I never could find." 

" And what sort of man is that? " 

" A man who never pretends." 

So from that day to this, friend after friend has 
continued the search for a man who never pretends, 
but the secret is still undeciphered. 



80 



The Birth-Mark 



THE BIRTH-MARK 

ALONG time ago there was a man with a 
birth-mark, and he fancied that the eye of 
every beholder fell first on this blemish. So he 
was loth to meet any strangers. He was shy and 
reserved when he met them, watching their faces 
for the gleam of repulsion or pity. And on the 
faces of most he would find it. As a rule, on the 
faces of men was repulsion, on the faces of women 
was pity. 

But there came one day a magician, who was 
indeed a great healer, saying that he could take 
off the birth-mark, and leave the skin as smooth as 
an infant's. And it was done. But the man was 
told that every year by a given date he must send 
a certain sum of money to the magician in a far 
away city, or the mark would return. He was 
filled with rejoicing, and embraced the magician, 
calling him his great benefactor and thinking not 
at all of the money. 

Then no longer was there repulsion or pity in 
the glance of beholders, for the man was quite 
handsome. On the faces of men he saw admiration 
or envy, and admiration on the faces of women. 
So he became bold and assertive. And he married 
a beautiful woman. But as the recurring time 
drew near for the payment, a fear would awake in 
his bosom that he could not raise the money for 
the magician. 

Year followed year and he prospered, and al- 
81 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

ways the payment was duly sent to the far away 
city. And no sign of the mark Was apparent. 
But at length the time did come when he had not 
the money. He tried every way to procure it. 
At last it had to be stolen. For this he was ap- 
prehended and committed to prison. But he bore 
no grudge against the magician. 

Time rolled on in its circuit, and again was at 
hand the date of the payment. But the man was 
in prison. The date passed, and he sent no money. 
For how could he? And every morning there- 
after he eagerly scanned in his broken bit of a mir- 
ror, his face, to see if the mark were returning. 
But there was no sign. The skin was still smooth 
and unbroken. And so to the end of his term in 
the prison, the mark never came back. 

He was released, but tarried not even to visit 
his beautiful wife. He went hotfoot to the city 
where dwelt the magician, and slew him. For the 
man with the birth-mark was human. 



82 



The Absurdest of All Things 



THE ABSURDEST OF ALL THINGS 

I WENT about seeking the absurdest of all 
things, for the notion had struck me that it 
would be amusing to witness. And I visited many 
places and saw many things and persons and actions. 
On several occasions I thought I had found some- 
thing absurder than anything could be, and each 
time I was tempted to rest and say, " There is no 
need to go further, for surely I have found it. 
Nothing could be more absurd." 

But as I thought over each of these things, I was 
far from content, for they seemed less absurd than 
at first I had deemed them. So I made up my 
mind to find something that would seem ever ab- 
surder the more I should ponder. 

It happened that my feet were led into a cathe- 
dral rich with the glory of canvas and crystal and 
marble. And in the pulpit was preaching a pre- 
late in vestments ablaze with costly gems and stiff 
with broidery of gold and of silver. 

And of what was he preaching? — Why, of 
the lowly Nazarene, whom he claimed as exemplar. 
And I thought of the Christ, who had but the 
poorest of raiment. 

I knew that the prelate lived in abundance on 
the richest of viands. And I thought of the Christ 
and the raw ears of corn plucked on a Sabbath. 

The prelate, I knew, dwelt in a palace, and was 
slavishly served by hired lackeys. And I thought 
of the Christ with no place to lay his head and no 
wages except love to pay to his servants. 

83 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



I knew that the prelate had gained his position 
by scheming intrigue. And I thought of the 
Christ, preferring others in honor. 

At last my quest was completed, no need to look 
further. Here in the church I had found it — 
the absurdest of all things. 

And it was not amusing. No, no, it was not 
amusing. 



8 4 



Justice 



JUSTICE 

ONCE upon a time an expert accountant was 
brought before a court to be tried on the 
charge of stealing money from his employer. He 
pleaded guilty, because he knew that the proof was 
ready. So it became the duty of the judge to 
pronounce sentence upon him. 

"Is he a good accountant?" the judge asked 
the employer. 

" Most excellent, your honor." 

"Is he painstaking and accurate?" 

" That is he, your honor." 

" Stand up," said the judge to the accountant, 
" the state is in need of your service ; I appoint you 
expert accountant for the commonwealth at the 
same salary as you have received from private em- 
ployers, and each day you shall report to a phy- 
sician, whose name I shall give you." 

" But, — but, your honor, the man has stolen 
my money, am I to have no revenge?" asked the 
employer. 

" No, no revenge, but I have not completed the 
sentence. And out of the salary the defendant 
shall pay his employer in monthly installments all 
that he has stolen with full legal interest." 

" But he ought to be punished, it is dangerous to 
let him go free," said the employer. 

" The state takes the risk," answered the judge, 
"he is one of the state's children who is mentally 
ill and perhaps we can cure him. If he were your 

8s 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

son and had stolen your money, what would you 
do with him ? " 

" I would prosecute him and send him to prison," 
said the employer. 

" I sentence you to jail as an unnatural father," 
answered the judge, " and each day a minister 
whom I shall appoint will come to instruct you. 
You are revengeful, unfeeling, and greedy, but you 
too are a child of the state and perhaps we can 
cure you." 

But then arose a great murmur from all of the 
lawyers, because even the oldest and most learned 
among them could remember no precedent. 



86 



The Busy Imp 



THE BUSY IMP 

ONCE upon a time there was a miner who dug 
into the earth, seeking pure gold, bright, yellow 
gold. And his mind was filled with its glitter. 
At night in his dreams he grasped with palsied 
hands at lustrous nuggets too large to be lifted, 
and he sifted streams of shining dust through 
trembling fingers. Oh, gold, gold, gold — for 
gold he toiled and sweated. Not fatigue, but only 
exhaustion, ever caused him to rest from his labors. 
And soon he was digging again, seeking the gold. 

He found it. 

11 Oh, I have found it ! I have found it ! I 
have found it ! " he shrieked in mad joy, " I have 
found it." 

There in the lone wilderness he shrieked with 
mad joy, as if he would tell all the world he had 
found it. He capered about at the head of the 
pit, waving his arms and shrieking, " I have found 
it!" 

" Well, what of it ? " he heard a voice say, a 
calm, piping voice, "What of it?" 

Sitting on top of the dump was an imp, a cool, 
passionless imp. The miner's jaw dropped as he 
saw him. 

11 The way you carry on," said the imp, " one 
would think that you are the first man who ever 
found any gold. There have been many others. 
And in time the gold has made precious fools of 
most of them. But you leave it little work for 
the future. You seem already demented." 

87 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

"Ha!" said the miner, "ha!" 

" Is that the best you can do ? " asked the imp. 

"I — I don't know," stammered the miner, 
" the fact is, I wasn't expecting to see you." 

" No," said the imp, " but I always come to the 
sudden discoverer of riches. That is my business." 

" Oh, it is," said the miner, " I didn't know that. 
What do you come for?" 

" I come to suggest various ways of spending the 
money," said the imp. " They never would know 
what to do with their money, if I didn't make the 
suggestions." 

" Oh, indeed," said the miner, " I am very much 
obliged, but I don't need your suggestions. I know 
what I am going to do with my money." 

"Oh, you do?" said the imp, "May I ask 
what?" 

" Well, I have a great many poor relatives, and 
I am going to make all of them independent," said 
the miner. 

"Oh, you are?" sneered the imp, "That's all 
right, but they are used to being poor. And the 
chances are that they will quarrel over the money 
you give them, and hate you for giving more to 
one than another, or less, or the same amount." 

" And then I am going to build a hospital for 
sick children in my native town," said the miner. 

" Fine," said the imp, " fine, but there are plenty 
of hospitals already, and there are not very many 
sick children in your native town anyway, and none 
of them ever did anything for you, that's plain." 

" And I am going to find poor but deserving 
young men, and pay for their education." 

" Good, good," said the imp, " but you didn't 
88 



The Busy Imp 



have much education, and here you are a rich man, 
and you have made your own money. Look at 
the boys that you grew up with and that were 
educated. Not a one of them has made as much 
as you have." 

" And I will save out just enough money for my- 
self to live in modest comfort," added the miner. 

" I told you in the beginning you were a fool," 
said the imp. " You might save up your money 
and have the whole countryside envying you and 
pointing you out as the richest man there. And 
a whole lot of pleasure is to be got out of women 
and wine, but I see there is no use in making sug- 
gestions to you. If a man hasn't sense enough to 
look out for himself, nobody can help him, so 
good-bye! " 

The imp flitted away. The miner stared after 
him. 

At length the miner recovered his poise. And 
he thought then after this fashion, " The imp is 
right. I have toiled and slaved and sweated for 
this gold. Those others, they have done nothing. 
Why should I give it to them? Bah, I was a fool 
ever to think it. Every man for himself, that is 
the doctrine." 

The imp, reading thought from afar, laughed 
aloud, as he said to himself, " It is easy, so easy, 
just too dead easy." 



89 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



THE SON OF MAN 

THE good abbot called to him one of the 
brethren whom he loved most dearly, and 
said, " O Brother Aloysius, I am deeply distressed 
because I am persecuted asleep and awaking by a 
vision of a band of heretics doomed by the church to 
be purged by the ordeal of fire. In the vision they 
are marching on their way to the place of purga- 
tion, and are chanting: — 

" ' O Christ, thou darling of the ages, what have 
they done to thee? They have made of thee a god 
and have taken away the merit of thy suffering. 
What were three and thirty years to a god? — A 
moment in boundless eternity, a fleeting moment, 
inconsiderable! But to our dear, human, elder 
brother it was a life time. 

" ' What were scourging and crucifixion to a 
god? — A god would know that for him endless 
bliss and power would follow. A god would have 
knowledge. A god would straightway ascend to 
rule over the infinite hosts of Heaven, and would 
know it. But a man, a human, one of our family, 
what would he know during the agony? The 
future would be dark to him. It would be lit only 
by the candle of faith. Ah, he would need to be 
brave. O thou dear one, thou wert brave. We 
love thee for thy bravery. 

" ' What were goodness to a god ? — He could 
not help being good, or he were no god. His 
nature would compel him to be good. Not even 
90 



The Son of Man 



a god could conceive of any true god as doing evil. 
But thou, thou holy man, thou wert tempted even 
as we. Oh, thou didst know the urge of passion, 
of envy, of avarice, of scorn. Thou didst feel 
them even as we. And glory to God in the high- 
est! thou didst show us that human strength can 
conquer them all — just human strength. For a 
god to overcome them would avail us nought. We 
can not hope to rival a god. 

: ' O Christ, they have made of thee a god, and 
with that they bolster up their power. Self-ap- 
pointed spokesmen, they claim to speak for thee. 
So forsooth their words have a divine authority. 
They have but little faith in humanity, or they 
seek some selfish end — and they fail in deeds, 
no less than we. But thou, thou Son of Man, thou 
didst prove and sanctify thy words with holy deeds. 
And words and deeds called, and do call, to the 
deeps within us, and our love answers. There is 
no other warrant needed. 

: c O child of the great Father, even as we, thy 
brothers, are children, accept our love. Know that 
we hold thee in our heart of hearts. We too would 
deify thee, if our love forbade us not. But we 
seek not power or profit. We want no dominion 
over the minds of our brothers and thine. We 
would have their love, not their tithes, not their 
obeisances. If this is self -righteousness, we know 
it not. We bare our souls to thee. Oh, we would 
worship God, the Father, as didst thou. We 
would be thy fellow-worshipers. And we believe 
that thou wouldst wish our love, not our worship. 
" ' God grant that we wrong not thy dear 
memory! Thou hast spoken, acted, lived. Thou 
91 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

hast made clear to us, all that thou couldst ex- 
plain. We ask of thee no further light. Thy 
dear lips, as ours will be, are sealed in death. But 
we believe with thee that the grave hath not an 
endless victory. After it are the many mansions 
of our common Father. In them shall we meet 
with thee, and learn the mysteries of life and death, 
and hear all of thy sad, sweet, glorious history. 

" ' O God in the highest, O Father of him and 
of us, hear our humble prayers.' " 

" But surely, reverend father," said Aloysius, 
" theirs is a most damnable heresy. They deny the 
Holy Trinity." 

" Yes, yes, Aloysius, theirs is a damnable heresy, 
yet I could wish, I could wish — no, I thank thee, 
Aloysius, theirs is a most damnable heresy, and 
their souls should be purged of it. I thank thee, 
Aloysius." 



92 



The To or Preacher 



THE POOR PREACHER 

IN a country not so very far away there was a 
preacher poor in this world's goods, and he had 
a family. As he preached from the pulpit, his 
eye would ever seek out from among the congre- 
gation assembled before him the eye of one certain 
member. The eye sought out was cold and in- 
different, but it drew the eye of the preacher like a 
magnet. 

And from time to time the wife of the preacher 
would turn her head to catch the eye of that certain 
member, the eye that was cold and indifferent. It 
was a dull, muddy eye, but the wife of the preacher 
could not forbear to look at it often. And then 
for the merest fraction of time her eye would seek 
and meet the eye of her husband, and his sermon 
would change its tone or its tenor. 

One might think that the wife and her husband 
had talked before service — before every service — 
about that certain member whose eye was cold and 
indifferent. And they had. One might hope that 
the wife and her husband had conspired with all 
tenderness to kindle in the eye that was cold and 
indifferent the light of the love of their Master 
and of his children, their poor fellow mortals. 
But they hadn't. 

When the service was over, both the preacher 

and his wife were sure to shake the hand of that 

certain member, and to say pleasant things to him. 

And they inquired with much feeling about his 

93 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

health and his family. And though they didn't 
mention it, they hoped quite sincerely that he had 
not been displeased by anything that the preacher 
had said. 

On reaching their home, the wife would say to 
the preacher, " Pray be more careful. If you go 
on the way you have done, you may hurt his 
feelings." 

And the preacher would reply, " Oh, no, I don't 
think so, he is really broad-minded. There are 
some things I must say as a preacher of the gospel, 
and he will know how to take them." 

If any should wonder why the preacher and his 
wife were so deeply concerned about that certain 
member and were so anxious to please him, perhaps 
the wonder will vanish when it is known that 
among all of the members he was the richest. 



94 



Secrets 



SECRETS 

LONG, long ago there was a rich old man who 
went out a-wooing, and bought himself a wife, 
who was both young and pretty. When he offered 
his hand and his heart and his money, the woman 
told him that she didn't love him. But he said 
that didn't matter, he was sure she would learn to, 
and if she didn't, she would at least be his wife, 
and it was a wife that he wanted. So the bargain 
was struck. 

Some months after the wedding there came an 
inevitable lover, so that the rich old man suffered 
from jealousy, and repented his bargain. But he 
didn't know how to get even, for if he divorced 
her, he would still have to give her a part of his 
fortune. But he was a shrewd old man, and never 
had given up a problem that involved the saving 
of money. So he thought and he thought and he 
thought. 

At last he said to his wife, " I observe that you 
have a lover." 

And she answered, " What had you a right to 
expect? I told you that I didn't love you." 

" True," said the man, " but I bought you, and 
I have paid a high price, and it is my purpose to 
keep you." 

The woman laughed in his face, and retorted, 
" You can't buy a wife. It is foolish to think it." 

But the old man was not at the end of his 
tether, for he went to a witch who told him a 
95 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

secret and gave him an ointment. And at night 
when his wife was a-sleeping, he lightly anointed 
her hands and her face with the ointment. And 
the consequence was that when she awakened, she 
discovered that she was splotched with a hideous 
color. And it wouldn't come off with washing or 
rubbing. 

For days and days she put off her lover and 
wouldn't allow him to see her. But at last the 
rich old man wrote him a note to invite him to 
dinner. He came, and was shocked beyond meas- 
ure to see the hideous color. And as soon as he 
could, he fled, and came back no more. 

And the rich old man was delighted, but he told 
his wife of the witch who could cure her. And 
the wife went at once to the witch, who took off 
the ointment, but she told the young wife that the 
discoloration was but the outward sign of the 
illicit love that she harbored, and that it would re- 
turn if she were ever again guilty. 

This alarmed the young wife, and for a while 
she restrained her affections. But at length she 
conquered her fear and began another flirtation. 
And again the same thing happened, for the rich 
old man kept his eyes open. And the young wife 
believed the words of the witch, so she hardly 
dared think of any other man except her old 
husband. 

The secret that the witch told the rich old man 
was this : " For some reason or other an illicit love 
for a woman will never survive the woman's 
complexion." 

But alas! the days of witches are gone, and 
women now know all of their secrets. 

96 



The Sinners 



THE SINNERS 

THERE was a man who betrayed his friend's 
wife, and every time they sinned, their hearts 
were filled with dread till they could again see 
the husband and friend, for they would know if 
he suspected. 

The man would say to the wife, " When you 
saw him, did he suspect anything? " 

And the woman would answer, " No, he didn't 
suspect." 

In a little while then the wife would ask, " Do 
you think he suspects anything? " 

And the man would say, " No, I don't think he 
ever suspects." 

And so over and over again, at each of their 
meetings, the question was asked and the answer 
was given, and it was ever the same. But all of 
the asking and answering could never quiet the 
dread. 

On the street, in his office, at the club, the man 
could not rest. He must go see his friend, to 
determine the matter. Always he dreaded to go, 
but anxiety drove him. He must go to see him. 

A_nd the wife, waiting at home, anxiously 
scanned the face of her husband at each return from 
his business. She dreaded his coming, but she 
longed for it, because she must know, know, know! 
And she was kinder and tenderer towards him. 
She made a screen out of tenderness behind which 
to hide the guilt of her passion. 
97 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

The man and the wife, when they were together, 
were voluble in love, and swore to each other that 
their passion was pure, was sent of God, to fill 
them with joy. And often they spoke of unutter- 
able bliss. Often he would look into the eyes 
whose glances of love were vowed to another, and 
swear that he was the happiest of mortals. And 
she, she would say, " Oh, my darling, how I love 
you! How happy you make me! Your love is so 
wonderful. Oh, you make me so happy ! " 

So day after day, and week after week, they 
vowed and protested that each made a heaven on 
earth for the other, and that they dwelt in that 
heaven amid unspeakable blisses. 

But the truth was, they lived in hell, and they 
knew it. 



98 



God's Law 



GOD'S LAW 

ONCE upon a time there was a physician who 
dwelt with his four stalwart sons and two 
lovely daughters in a spacious home on a height 
adjoining a city. And it happened that a pesti- 
lence spreading through the land came in its awful 
progress to this city where dwelt the physician. 

The citizens were attacked, and died by scores 
and by hundreds, but it was noticed that the rav- 
ages were greatest in low-lying regions near swamps 
or depressions. And the idea became current that 
the pestilence could not climb to a height, but must 
confine its destruction to the murky air of the 
lowlands. 

So the physician, kind and benevolent, threw 
open his home to the stricken, made of it a hospital 
for the cure and the comfort of those whom the 
malady had smitten, brought in as many as the 
home could hold from cellar to attic. And he and 
his sons and his daughters tended the sick by day 
and by night with unwearying patience. 

Oh, but then the stalwart sons, one after an- 
other, were themselves stricken. The pestilence 
was pitiless. Human strength could avail naught 
against it. All of the sons died, died in the home 
that was thought to be safe, so high was it placed 
above the regions around, where the pestilence had 
raged. The skill of the father, the care of the 
sisters was fruitless. 

The physician was stricken with grief, bowed 
99 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

down with sorrow, and in the throes of his anguish 
he cried out to God, " O heavenly Father, what 
have I done that thy hand hath fallen so heavily 
upon me? What have I done? Hast thou not 
told us to comfort and succor the sick and the sor- 
rowful? Hast thou not enjoined upon us compas- 
sion and mercy and kindness? Hast thou not 
promised to reward us for deeds of benevolence and 
brotherly love? And yet, and yet I took into my 
very home those sorely afflicted. I tended and 
nursed them. I gave them my time and my labor, 
my food and my shelter. I spent my strength for 
them, and the strength of my sons and my daugh- 
ters. And what is my recompense? — I am left 
desolate, desolate in my old age. All of my sons 
have been taken. Couldst thou not have left me 
one? Oh, if I have been a great sinner, couldst 
thou not have left me one? O God, what crime 
is it, what unforgivable crime is it that I have 
committed? For what have I been so grievously 
punished? " 

God had answered the prayer before it was 
uttered, but the physician thought that God did 
not answer, that neither by word nor by sign did 
God answer. 

Cold weather came, and the pestilence passed, 
disappeared throughout the whole country. Years 
came and went. The physician lived on, but the 
light of life had gone out for him and his daugh- 
ters. They could take no joy, but felt they were 
scourged by the anger of God. And there were 
those who whispered that the physician must have 
been guilty of some secret sin, but there were others 
whose hearts were filled with love and with pity, 
ioo 



God's Law 



After a long, long time a scientist discovered 
God's law of the pestilence. And the law was 
merely that the malady was spread by mosquitoes. 
The physician didn't know that. He had not 
offended, but he knew not the law of the pestilence. 

God's answer to him was the same as it has 
been and will be to the rest of his creatures through 
all of the ages, " Discover my law." 



IOI 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



BARE GIFTS 

A YOUNG man, rich and compassionate, came 
crying, " What shall I do to save my fellow 
men?" 

And he was answered, " Sell all thou hast, and 
give to the poor, and come, follow me." 

So straightway he went to his home, and caused 
his steward to make a reckoning of all that he had, 
and sold it, and gave the price thereof to be dis- 
tributed to the poor. And he returned unto the 
Master and said, " Lo, I am ready to follow thee." 

And the Master led him to a hovel, where dwelt 
a poor family, saying, " Here shall we abide for 
the night, and share the crust and the straw of 
these people." 

" Nay, but Master," said the young man, " the 
place is dirty, and the people are foul and low-born. 
I have near at hand a friend, shall we not rather 
tarry for the night in his house? In the morning, 
if need be, we can return, and I will send for my 
steward and my servants to make this place clean." 

" If thou shouldst send for thy steward and thy 
servants, they would not come," answered the 
Master, " for they have nothing more to expect 
from thee. And moreover they withheld a por- 
tion of thy money, and did not give all to the poor, 
as thou didst direct, and to-day are they drunken, 
and they laugh when they speak of thee, saying 
that thou art a fool." 

The young man was greatly cast down, for his 
1 02 



Bare Gifts 



steward and servants had seemed to him very 
faithful. Hardly could he pluck up heart to say, 
11 But surely will my friend harbor us for the night. 
We need not stay in this sty." 

11 Still art thou blind," answered the Master. 
" Thou didst come to me crying, ' How shall I 
save my fellow men ? ' and I would show thee the 
way. Thou hast given all thy possessions save one. 
That thou wilt not give." 

" And what, pray, is that possession I have not 
given?" asked the young man. 

" It is thyself," said the Master. 



103 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



THE STINGY MAN 

ONCE upon a time there dwelt in a town a man 
who was very stingy, and he was disliked by 
all of his neighbors. They said he was the meanest 
man in the world. But it happened that a 
preacher, wise and experienced in the workings of 
the human heart, came to live in that town. 

The preacher was told about the stingy man. 
Indeed he heard from all sides how mean and 
stingy the man was. But to all informants the 
preacher replied with a smile, " Perhaps you don't 
know how charitable he is in secret." 

That was all he said in words, but his smile 
seemed to intimate that he knew something he 
could not divulge. And he repeated this so often 
and to so many people, while showing himself so 
wise and so well informed about other things, the 
neighbors began to think that possibly they had 
indeed misjudged the stingy man. And there got 
to be a good deal of gossip about the sums that the 
stingy man gave away in secret. And they treated 
him with a new respect and consideration. 

The stingy man could not fail to notice this 
new respect, so he began to think that, after all, 
his neighbors were good and deserving people, and 
he felt that he ought to do something for them. 
So one day, quite unexpectedy to her, he gave a 
little poor girl on the street a penny. And it 
happened that she told the preacher. As occasion 
offered, the preacher spread it around that the 
stingy man had been quite generous to a little poor 
104 



The Stingy Man 



girl, who had been in dire need of charity. And 
the people felt still more respect for the stingy 
man, and his generosity was magnified in the whole 
community. 

But the preacher told everybody that he had 
talked with the stingy man — as he really had — 
and went on to say, " He is very peculiar, and will 
not give anything to anybody who asks him, for 
he believes that giving should be done as the spirit 
moves him. So don't ask him." 

Whenever a collection of any kind was taken 
up in that town thereafter, nobody asked the 
stingy man to contribute. At first he was gratified, 
thinking that he had escaped the notice of the col- 
lectors, but as time went on and nobody ever asked 
him to give anything, he felt slighted. And at 
last he asked why no one ever came to him for a 
contribution. He was answered that everybody 
knew he gave in secret all he could afford. And 
the answer was given in such sincerity that he 
could not doubt the belief of the speaker. And 
he went home thinking. 

On the morrow he hunted up the collector, and 
offered him a sum of money. But the collector 
replied, " No, we can not accept so much from you. 
It is more than your proportion, but if you insist, 
we will let you give us half of that." 

The stingy man thought he was dreaming, but 
gave the half, and fell straightway to musing. And 
soon thereafter he visited the preacher, and said 
to him, " I feel that I have not done my share 
in contributing to the charities of this community, 
and I wish that hereafter you would count me in 
on things of that kind." 

105 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



^ Oh, my dear brother," said the preacher, 
almost ever since I came here, I have heard from 
all sides about your giving in secret. And we do 
not like to burden a generous heart too greatly." 

"Nevertheless," said the stingy man, "I can 
afford to give more, and I wish to do it. So please 
don't neglect me." 



1 06 



Why* 



WHY? 

V-x What is it most like? " asked the neophyte. 

And the prophet, answering, spake, " Most often 
I think of the human heart as a vine sending forth 
its tendrils in every direction seeking support. For 
it can not stand alone." 

" And these tendrils, what are they ? " 

11 The tendrils — they are the passions, the feel- 
ings. One is love, we shall say. It is put forth 
from the vine, weak, tender, an easy prey to the 
frost, to the heat. It reaches out, finds its mark. 
Wraps itself about, grows ever stronger — if it 
survives — and supports the vine. But there is 
also the tendril of hate. Its growth is the same. 
An old hate — how strong it is! And, my son, 
mark me well." 

"Yes, father." 

" While these tendrils support the vine, they also 
hold it in place, rigid. The young vine is blown 
here and there by the breeze, or the light touch of 
the gardener bends and directs it. But when old, 
innumerable tendrils have bound it fast, it is 
immovable." 

" And what is the soil out of which the vine 
grows ? " 

" The soil is but the record and residue of past 
deeds from which the heart must draw much of its 
strength." 

" Not all, not all of its strength ? " 
107 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

" No, the vine must reach upward to the air 
above it, and draw also from that." 

" Oh, I see, father, the human heart must reach 
upward. But who is the gardener? " 

"I am a gardener, an under-gardener of thy 
heart and of some others. But there is one great 
Gardener, whose directions I would follow, but 
alas! I sometimes fail through lack of skill or in- 
telligence or will." 

" Nay, nay, father, thou art near perfection." 

" No, neither I nor anything human. — But the 
fruit of the vine, that is chief. Remember that it 
is for the fruit that the vine is tended. That should 
be sweet and luscious, affording joy and sustenance 
to the sons of men. God grant that I may so tend 
the vines entrusted to my keeping." 

" Yes, father, but I have heard, and is it not 
true, that from the fruit of the vine is made a 
potion that steals away the minds of men and cor- 
rupts them ? " 

" Yea, that is true. Likewise is it true that the 
best fruits of the human heart are perverted by 
greed and tyranny." 

11 Father, speak more plainly. I do not 
understand." 

" Fruits of the human heart are deeds. And 
alas! in the church the shining deeds of blessed 
martyrs are distilled into superstition, for the profit 
of priests; and in the state, the glorious deeds of 
patriots into false ideals of loyalty, for the power 
of kings." 

" But, father, is that the end ? Shall it always 
be so?" 

" No, my son, that is not the end. The great 
1 08 



Why? 

Gardener will not permit that to be the end. He 
will change that, is changing that, but by proc- 
esses that are slow." 

" Father, why are those processes slow? " 
" Oh, God, why are they slow? Why are they 
slow? Oh, my son, I know not. Oh, they seem 
so slow; I don't know, my son, I don't know. 
But leave me now, I must pray. Oh, God, I must 
pray." 



109 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



NOT IN SO MANY WORDS 

ONCE there was a man who wanted to know 
what was the truth. So he asked a priest. 
And the priest said, "Thus and so is the truth." 

And the man said," If I believe that, what 
then?" 

And the priest answered, " You will join my 
church." 

Then the man asked a politician. And the 
politician said, " Thus and so is the truth." 

And the man said, " If I believe that, what 
then?" 

And the politician answered, " You will join my 
party." 

Then the man asked a merchant. And the mer- 
chant said, " Thus and so is the truth." 

And the man said, " If I believe that, what 
then?" 

And the merchant answered, " You will buy my 
goods." 

Then the man asked a woman. And the woman 
said, " Thus and so is the truth." 

And the man said, " If I believe that, what 
then?" 

And the woman answered, "You will marry 
me. 

Then the man asked a philosopher. And the 
philosopher said. " I don't know. And this side 
of the grave you never will know the truth about 
anything very important." 
no 



Not in So Many Words 



The man wouldn't believe the philosopher, but 
went and joined the church of the priest, the party 
of the politician, bought goods of the merchant, 
and married the woman. 

So in the end he was no different from the most 
of us, caring not so much about the truth, but 
struggling for money to support the church, the 
party, the 1 merchant, and the woman. 



in 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



A BIRTH 

IT became known in Heaven and in Hell that a 
human baby was about to be born on earth. So 
a messenger from each of the two places was dis- 
patched to instruct the young stranger who would 
come into the world without knowledge. Care- 
fully the messengers were chosen. It was desired 
that each should well represent his home and his 
fellows. For there was no telling but that the 
baby might some day hold a high place among men 
and great power. 

In Hell were many applicants for the honor. 
Envy and Greed and Sloth, Hatred, Revenge, and 
Anger, Lust and Pride and Cruelty — each 
clamored to be sent on the mission. But after 
much talk and confusion, Cunning stood up and 
said, " This baby may be born to more power than 
any other of the sons of men in a century. So let 
us be sure. Why send one of the children when 
the mother of all is here? " 

The clamor subsided. The counsel of Cunning 
prevailed. 

So in Heaven likewise were many anxious to go. 
Chastity, Temperance, Reverence, Loyalty, Truth, 
Patience, Forgiveness — all volunteered, and the 
claims of each had some warrant and approval. 
But at last Wisdom spoke, " Why send one of the 
children when the mother of all is here? Should 
she not rather go if she will? She has borne us 
112 



A Birth 



all, nourished us, guided us, and kept us alive. 
Surely she could give the best instruction." 

The counsel of Wisdom prevailed. 

Up glided the messenger from Hell. Down 
flew the messenger from Heaven. They met at the 
bedside of birth, and waited through the agony. 
Each sat expectant. 

When the child was born, they walked on either 
side of the nurse who carried it to the bath, then 
down to its father, and on back again to the cradle. 
Here night and day they abode, so that whether 
sleeping or waking the child might receive their 
whispered instruction. Each knew how to color 
both thinking and dreaming. So no second of the 
child's life was free from the influence of either. 
And neither with all of her striving could quite 
overcome the strength of the other, though each 
summoned her children to help her. 

The child waxed and grew large. Still the two 
teachers clung to their task with persistence. And 
now the results of their teaching showed more and 
more plainly. Sometimes the guidance of one, 
sometimes that of the other, dictated the child's 
action. So through youth to manhood, old age, 
and the grave, the child wavered between them. 

It was odd — wasn't it? — that he should not 
have chosen one and clung to her. All his life 
long both were beside him. All of his life he had 
to compare them. There they both were, but it 
is odder that he never quite clearly saw either. He 
knew they were different, as different as Heaven 
and Hell where they came from. But he liked to 
confuse the one with the other, or he couldn't avoid 
it, or his eyes were afflicted with dimness. Per- 
113 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

haps the two figures were shrouded, and he never 
quite dared to tear away the veils that concealed 
them. Who can say? 

But the truth is that to his dying day, he wavered 
between them — between the Love of Self and the 
Love of Others, for these were the messengers that 
were sent by Hell and by Heaven. 



114 



The Towers 



THE TOWERS 

**T ISTEN, O ye people," cried a mad dervish, 
I v " the towers of Benares will fall. Beware, 
ye passers-by, the towers of Benares will fall." 

And the people going by glanced up to the lofty 
towers, and shook their heads, grinning, to think 
how mad the dervish was and how foolish his say- 
ing. Had not the towers been there always and 
withstood both earthquake and tempest? 

But it happened that there was a beautiful wife 
in Benares, who was also a mother. And she was 
the light of the eyes of her husband, and to her 
children she was the queen of the angels. Joy and 
peace were her handmaidens, and went where she 
bade them. And lo! there came a seducer whose 
words were dripping with honey, and she listened. 

And there was a banker in Benares whose vaults 
were stuffed full of the savings of widows and 
orphans and others who trusted their all to his 
keeping. And his name was the highest for honor 
and probity in all of the city. When any one 
called for the money that he had left with the 
banker, immediately the sum was forthcoming, and 
all was straight as it should be, so that the people 
were glad to feel their savings secure from both 
thief and robber. But, alas! there came a great 
schemer whispering of profits enormous, and the 
banker listened. 

So there was a priest in Benares who was vowed 
to a life of denial. Temperate he was in all things, 
115 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

and held in subjection the gross appetites of the 
body. All of his thoughts were of piety, and all 
of his deeds of benevolence. And the people 
revered him and boasted that he was almost a god, 
for he was above the lust and drunkenness and 
gluttony that commonly ruled over their fellows. 
But to him came a siren bringing red wine and rich 
food and sighing with passion, and he listened. 

And afterwards came the mad dervish and 
walked through the streets of Benares. And he 
cried, " Lo, they have fallen. The towers have 
fallen. O ye people, the towers of Benares lie in 
the dust. Cover your faces and weep for the 
towers of Benares." 

But the people glanced at the towers stretching 
their shining heights to the heavens, and wagged 
their heads as if to say, " What a very mad der- 
vish ! What a mad, foolish dervish ! " 



116 



Blind 



BLIND 

ONCE in a far country there was a human 
creature very near to the angels, because his 
work was the creation of beautiful things. All of 
his days were spent in dreaming out dreams of 
beauty and in giving them shape and substance. 
And often at night he could not sleep for think- 
ing on means of expression. 

It was a law of his being that he must dream 
and work, dream and work, dream and work, and 
he could not evade it. And the thing that he 
had to seek was always beauty. But alas, some 
malevolent power had so made it that he must ever 
yearn for applause and human sympathy, so that 
his joy in any creation was but small if no other 
eye than his could see its beauty. 

And it happened that the inhabitants of his 
country were for the most part blind, or at least 
they were blind to beauty, because they were seek- 
ing always something else. And what they sought 
they found, but its glitter blinded them and bleared 
their eyes. And it must have dulled their minds, 
because they thought they were finding the best 
of all things. And it must have hardened their 
hearts, because they had but little sympathy with 
dreamers who sought out things of beauty, called 
them ne'er-do-wells and idlers, and heaped derision 
upon them. 

So this poor human creature was very unhappy. 
" Look, look," he would cry to the crowd, " at the 
thing that I have created." 
117 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

And the eyes of the crowd, if they were lifted 
at all from its grubbing into all kinds of filth 
where lay what it sought — those eyes were raised 
for one fleeting moment only to wither with scorn 
or mock with sarcasm him who cried out, and they 
returned to their seeking. 

But by some sort of miracle this very unhappiness 
must weave for itself in the soul of the dreamer 
a garment of beauty, and walk forth to seek admira- 
tion from the same sordid folk, and always in vain. 
" One more folly," would they say, " oh, why 
doesn't the fool make something useful that can 
be eaten or worn or loaned out for profit? " 

And they never could understand. That's the 
pity of it, they never could understand, so never, 
never could they be brought very near to the angels, 
but sank ever deeper and deeper into the mire of 
their grubbing. 



118 



Reputation 



REPUTATION 

THERE was once a man who undertook a great 
work. It was begun when he was a young 
man, and he had no idea of its real magnitude. But 
as he dreamed and planned and wrought, it grew 
under his hands. Indeed it promised much, but it 
would require the toil of a life-time for its comple- 
tion. 

At times the heart of the man was filled with 
enthusiasm and the joy of creation. He would say 
to himself, " How wonderful is it! Oh, it will 
make a stir in the world. I shall be famous. 
They will call me great and speak of me with 
admiration." 

But at other times his heart would sink within 
him, and he would say, " It is nothing. It is less 
than nothing. What a fool am I to hope, to dream 
that I shall ever accomplish anything great. Oh, 
the thing is poor, weak, puerile. I hate it. It 
disgusts me." 

And for weeks he would cease toiling, and give 
himself up to a listless despondency. " No," he 
would say, " no, it is not great, and if it were, the 
crowd would never recognize its greatness. What 
is the use? Why should I spend my life in toil? 
Why can I not give myself to enjoyment as do 
others? " 

And he would waver in his mind — to go on or 
not to go on? For days he would wander dis- 
tractedly about in feverish indecision, and at night 
119 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

would toss on his couch with anxious forebodings 
lest, after all, his work were foolish, and would be 
despised, if ever it were finished. 

A hundred times he concluded to abandon it, 
and a hundred times something called him back to 
it. One day it would be beautiful to him, another 
day disgusting. He tried other tasks more in keep- 
ing with the ordinary life about him, but he had 
no success at them,. And he inevitably drifted back 
to the great work and to his alternations of enthus- 
iasm and despair. 

At last after he had long passed middle life, the 
work was finished, and made public. 

And people beholding it, said, " What magnifi- 
cence! What beauty! What infinite accuracy of 
detail ! Oh, but that work required an unwavering 
will. What indomitable strength, what unfalter- 
ing persistence must have been in its creator! " 



1 20 



Gladness and Sorrow 



GLADNESS AND SORROW 

ONCE there was a man who had but a few 
months to live. The doctors had told him he 
would die, but would show beforehand no outward 
signs of disease, and he did not doubt the truth of 
their verdict. He looked into the mirror, saying 
to himself, " Just think, the face that I am looking 
at will soon be naught but dust — all of its features 
naught but dust. And all of this world will be 
dead to me. But I must be brave." 

His family was the reason why he thought he 
should be brave. He would not shock them un- 
timely by disclosing to them his awful secret. Let 
them live at least those few months in happiness. 
" Every moment of happiness is a treasure, and why 
should I," his thoughts ran, " destroy those treas- 
ures ? My family is dearer to me than life. I will 
preserve the secret and pretend to be happy." 

But the wife of his bosom was keen of sight, for 
her vision was sharpened by the strength of affec- 
tion. And she could look into the heart of her 
husband. So she knew that his happiness was gone, 
and that he only pretended. But her love was 
such that she reasoned, " It were better for me not 
to ask him, for whatever it is, he withholds it for 
the sake of my happiness." 

And that was a marvellous love in a woman. 

And she was kinder to him than ever and 
tenderer. So he saw that she knew he was troubled, 
and it touched him. " My God " thought he, 
121 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

" how it will grieve her, the dear heart. Oh, I 
must seem joyful to allay her suspicion." 

And that was a marvellous love in a man. 

The months went by, and all of the while this 
game of hide and seek, impelled by affection, con- 
tinued, the man trying to hide his dismay, the 
woman seeking how best to dispel it, but neither 
speaking in words to the other of their secret dis- 
quiet. 

At length the time was ripe according to the 
doctor's prediction. The day was come, and yet 
the man lived. And other days came and slipped 
into the past and piled themselves into weeks, and 
the man grew stronger. And hope awoke in his 
heart. " Oh, it may be," he thought, " that the 
doctors were wrong. What if I am not doomed, 
after all? Oh, God, perhaps I may live, live, 
live!" 

Hardly could he refrain from rushing to the wife 
of his bosom to tell her the whole truth, but he 
checked himself, saying, " I must be sure." 

And this was harder, far harder than hiding the 
sorrow — this waiting to see, this withholding of 
joy. But his wife sensed the hope in his speech, in 
his gesture, in all his demeanour, and perceived 
there was in him some secret of gladness. And she 
demanded to know what was this secret of gladness 
and was hurt when for a time he withheld it, yet 
she had borne with great patience his hoarding of 
his secret of sorrow. 

For even love must stand silent before the portals 
of sorrow. 



122 



Gladness and Sorrow 



MUTATION 

IN a city not far from the sea dwelt a husband 
who thought he had cause to suspect that the wife 
of his bosom was untrue to the vows sworn at the 
altar. And his peace of mind was destroyed. He 
would sit by the side of the sea and brood on his 
trouble, neglecting all duties. And it seemed to 
him that in all the world there was no joy or pleas- 
ure whatever. The little laughing waves dancing 
in the sun seemed to sob and sigh, and the man was 
quite wretched, and moaned to himself, " Oh, how 
could she? How could she? Oh, never, never, 
could I have betrayed her. The faithless wanton! 
No temptation would ever have made me unfaith- 
ful." 

As he sat brooding, there came by a woman, 
young, comely, and charming. Experienced she 
was in the ways and feelings of masculine things. 
So she sat down beside him, or not very far from 
him. And she sighed so loudly one would have 
thought her heart near to bursting, " Alas ! " she 
said, " alas! alas! " 

The husband looked up, and was touched with 
deep pity — a thing so fair, so young, and bowed 
in such sorrow. A spirit burdened like his with 
a grief past all speaking. So he arose and accosted 
the woman, " Pardon me, madame, but perhaps I 
can help you." 

" No, no," she said, " my grief is past helping. 
I have lost my dear lover. He was faithless and 
left me." 

1^3 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

"And you still love him?' queried the husband. 

" Oh, better than life," answered the woman, 
11 far better than life. Oh, I want him." 

And the husband sat down beside her, very close 
to her. And he told her all of his troubles. He 
was eloquent about all of his troubles, and she 
listened and sighed. 

So the next day they met again and the next and 
the next and the next. And at last the husband 
said, " You are the light of my life. Let us leave 
here together, and begin over anew in some happier 
country. Any country with you would be heaven." 

But she answered, " Your wife? What of your 
wife and your children ? " 

He said, " My wife is a wanton, and my children 
— who knows? Oh, nothing matters but you, you, 
you. I want you, I love you." 

" But do you certainly know that your wife has 
betrayed you? — You don't, I know you don't, for 
you have told me all your suspicions, and they are 
baseless. I have looked into the matter, and know 
all about it. You have wronged her." 

" I don't care," said the husband, " I have long 
ceased to love her. You, you, I want you." 

" So," the woman replied, " you would leave her, 
betray her, forsake her. All men are faithless. 
Return and beg her forgiveness." 

She left him standing there frozen, and went on 
her way thinking, " I don't know whether his wife 
is guilty or not. But one thing is plain, he is a 
jealous, amorous old fool, I could never endure 
him." 



124 



An Instance 



AN INSTANCE 

ONCE upon a time there was a very poor man, 
who was a member of a very rich church. 
The man was so poor that often he and his wife 
were forced to go hungry. And his case came to 
the notice of the pastor and the deacons, and they 
said, " What shall we do for our poor brother?" 

It happened then that the position of treasurer of 
the church was vacant. So on the motion of a kind- 
hearted deacon, it was determined that the poor 
man should be made treasurer, but his salary was 
to be small, as his duties were not very heavy. 

He w T as duly installed in the office, and every 
Sunday he received the collections, and counted 
them, and deposited them in a bank to the credit 
of the church, and no man save him knew for cer- 
tain how much was given to the church on each 
Sabbath. But not long after his election, the sums 
deposited grew less, despite the fact that the church 
increased in members and attendants. 

So the deacons marvelled and said among them- 
selves, " It must be that our poor brother has been 
stealing from the treasury of the Lord, and if so, 
he should be punished severely." 

So privately they set watch upon him, and it was 
discovered that he did indeed take for his own uses 
the contributions of the pious, but he did not know 
of the watch or the discovery. 

The deacons appointed a committee to confer 
with the pastor as to what were best to be done, and 
they laid all of the proof before him. 
125 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

" It is clear," said the pastor, " that our poor 
brother is guilty of theft. But is his salary suffi- 
cient to meet the modest needs of himself and his 
wife? " 

The deacons agreed that it wasn't. 

Then said the pastor, " Out of my pocket will I 
pay the sums that he has taken, as nearly as they 
can be estimated, and we will raise his salary, and 
appoint two of you deacons to help our poor brother 
count the collections. We have led him into temp- 
tation." 

It was so done. 

And it came to pass that the poor brother, out 
of his increased salary, paid back to the church four 
times the amount of his pilferings. 



126 



The Treasure 



THE TREASURE 

ONCE a poor man digging in a field found a 
great treasure, and fell to wondering what he 
would do with it. " It has lain here many years,'* 
said he, " and here it is safe. I will cover it up, 
and leave it until I can make up my mind." 

So he returned to his house in the village, and 
said nothing to any of his family. But his wife 
noticed that he was restless, and that all during the 
night he could not sleep, and she wondered what 
ailed him. But with all of her questioning, she 
could get nothing out of him, and in the morning 
she was angry. 

With early dawn the poor man returned to the 
field. He would see that the treasure was safe. 
It was there in its place snugly hidden. And the 
poor man fell to dreaming what a great figure he 
and his would cut in the world. His heart was 
filled with pride, and already he felt the first 
prickle of scorn for the lowly. " Oh, we shall 
have silks and satins and carriages and horses," he 
said, " and gems in great number. And our former 
neighbors will gape with envy and wonder." 

He couldn't decide what to do with the treasure. 
His house was frail and easy to enter. He was 
afraid to risk it there. He distrusted banks and 
bankers, for he had heard that banks were robbed 
and that bankers themselves were sometimes the 
robbers. And he dared not trust the treasure to 
the keeping of any of his neighbors. So he sat 
127 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

all day in the field, and watched the place of its 
concealment. 

This went on day after day, and he could do 
nothing except puzzle his mind with much think- 
ing. This plan and the other for safeguarding the 
treasure was thought of and rejected. Hardly 
could he tear himself away when dark came. His 
nights were full of disquiet. And he was off to the 
field with the first peep of day. Still he could 
never make up his mind. 

His neighbors, passing, saw that he did no work, 
but sat long in one place, and then paced restlessly 
back and forth, back and forth. And one neighbor, 
more curious than others, noticed that the poor man 
halted always at one spot and gazed at the ground, 
as if he were thinking, trying to decide about some- 
thing. " What can it be ? " said the neighbor. 
" To-night I will come, take a look. Perchance I 
may profit." 

In the dead of the night came the neighbor, dug 
up the treasure, and carried it away to another con- 
cealment. 

Next morning the poor man saw but a gaping 
hole where the treasure had been. He threw him- 
self on the ground bewailing his lot, and cursing the 
thief who had stolen the treasure, and sobbing bit- 
terly, cried, " Oh, I wish I had made up my mind. 
I wish I had made up my mind." 



128 



The Deceitful Dollar 



THE DECEITFUL DOLLAR 

ONCE upon a time there was a poor little 
deceitful dollar that found itself alone in the 
pocket of a workingman. It felt so small and lone- 
some that it sighed aloud. The workingman was 
quite astonished to hear so great a sigh coming out 
of a pocket so nearly empty. He reached in and 
pulled out the lonesome dollar, and asked it, " What 
is the matter with you? One would think that 
your heart is bursting." 

" Alas, it is," said the dollar. 

" But why? " asked the workingman. 

" I am lonesome," answered the dollar, " so 
miserably, damnably lonesome. I have been hop- 
ing against hope that I should get some companions, 
but now I am ready to cry. Outside of a few 
coppers and such trifling trash, I have had no com- 
pany for days and days." 

" There, there," said the workingman, " don't 
cry. You really ought to be proud. You are the 
last dollar I have, and I am keeping you for a luck 
piece. I am never going to spend you at all, what- 
ever happens. I may get work again next week, 
and then you will have company. At any rate, 
cheer up. It makes a man downhearted to have 
such a melancholy luck piece." 

" Well," said the dollar, " you would be melan- 
choly too if you were put into a dark dungeon and 
kept there by yourself, as I am. I should like to 
circulate a little, to go about some, you know. 
That's what I was made for. I don't want to be 
129 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

a luck piece, and there's no use in trying to make a 
luck piece out of me, because you never have any 
luck, anyway, and you never will have any till 
you change your way of doing." 

" Why, what's that? " said the workingman, " I 
am honest, and I work hard when I can get a job. 
If a man like that doesn't deserve luck, who does? 
Tell me that." 

" I didn't say anything about deserving luck," 
said the dollar, " I was merely talking about having 
luck. You haven't any luck, you never did have 
any luck, and you never will have any luck, because 
you will probably always be an honest workingman, 
which is the last sort of man that luck ever hits." 

" You are a liar," said the workingman, " and 
you know it. Just for that I am going to spend 
you for a square meal. I am tired of being hungry, 
and besides I wouldn't have such a lying luck piece 
as you are. You are a failure as a luck piece, a 
miserable, sobbing, sighing, dismal failure." 

And straightway the workingman sought out a 
restaurant, and spent the dollar for a square meal. 

" Now, then," said he, as he handed the dollar 
to the cashier, " I hope you are satisfied. You 
will have plenty of company in the cash register." 

" Yes," said the dollar, " I am satisfied," and 
chuckled, " ho ! ho ! I am satisfied, because I have 
had my way with you. You were a fool to think 
you could keep me. No man could ever keep a 
last dollar, because a dollar will sigh and weep and 
lie and do anything rather than stay alone. It 
will always hurry to get where there are lots of 
other dollars to keep it company." 

The workingman stood scratching his head a 
130 



The Deceitful Dollar 



moment, and then he burst out with, " You may be 
a liar, but you spoke the truth that time, my 
hearty." 

And grinning sheepishly, he went out to look for 
a job. 



131 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



SEX 

ONCE upon a time a saint who had fled the 
world and taken refuge in the solitude of a 
wilderness, was found dead in his hermitage by 
two pilgrims. And in his hand was clutched a 
crumpled parchment. With reverential but hur- 
ried eagerness the pilgrims removed the parchment 
from his stiffened ringers, and spread it out to 
peruse his last pious exhortations. Great was their 
amazement to read what follows: 

" O Passion, God knows whether you are good 
or evil — man doesn't. Philosophers scorn you, or 
pretend to, and you make hypocrites of their dis- 
ciples, yea, of the philosophers themselves. Or it 
may be that their scorn is a fortress to defend them. 
If so, you smash it, you blow it up, and leave them 
to writhe in its ruins. 

" O Passion, parsons endeavor to tame you. 
They tie you up in a harness. They bind and re- 
strict you. Oh, they tie you as tight as they can. 
For the duration of a whole human life they seek 
to imprison you. And after they have bound you 
their strongest, still do they fear you. Looking at 
you askance, they wonder if their bonds will be able 
to hold you. Oh, you laugh at them, and compel 
them to bless you. 

" O Passion, poets and painters worship you, as 

do all artists. You awake them to beauty. You 

thrill them with creative energy. You fill them 

with harmonies of form and of sound and of color. 

132 



Sex 



Till you come, they are blind and lie dormant, 
inert, and listless. But with your coming is light 
and life and melody. Oh, you thrill them. They 
fall down and worship you. You are their ecstasy. 

" O Passion, to every son of Adam you give 
moments of rapture, to sage and simpleton, to 
banker and beggar, to priest and profligate. Let 
them deny you. They pay for their folly. You 
strain them to breaking if they defy you. Oh, they 
may twist and struggle and pray, but escape you? — 
No, no, they do not escape you. Ha! they are so 
fashioned that they must welcome you while fighting 
against you. They pet you, gloat on you, embrace 
you, during the battle. And in their secret hearts 
they cherish you. 

" O Passion, you make wise men fools, and 
enlighten the simple. You pull down kings, and 
exalt the lowly. You can transform arctic regions 
into Elysian bowers, and temper the heat of the 
desert to the coolness of green dells on a mountain. 
You paint the sunset and ensilver the moon. You 
can glorify poverty and illumine despair. 

" O Passion, some say that you are good, and 
some that you are evil. I know not, but I know 
you are immortal, or, at least, that you will live 
until the last human son gasps out his breath on the 
shoreless edge of time. And then — " 

"Ha! the old hypocrite!" thought one of the 
pilgrims. 

But the thought of the other was, "Oh, the dear, 
good saint, I never suspected his struggles." 



133 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



LIMITATION 

A MONK in his cloister prayed, " O God, I 
would be good. I yearn to be good, just good. 
I pray thee, O God, help me to be good. Guard 
me from evil. Preserve me from temptation. 
Make me good." 

He rose from his knees, and went out into the 
streets of the city. 

A harlot in her brothel prayed, " O God, I would 
be good. I yearn to be good, just good. I pray 
thee, O God, help me to be good. Rescue me from 
this life of evil. O God, make me good." 

She rose from her knees, and went out into the 
streets of the city. 

The monk and the harlot met. He drew close 
his cassock, so that she should not touch it in pass- 
ing, lest she should defile him. And he thought, 
" The devil hath sent her, this evil woman. Oh, 
well for me that I have fortified my spirit with 
prayer. She would lead me astray, but I feel the 
protecting arms of God thrown about me." 

And the harlot, she thought, " Oh, here is a holy 
man of God. How closely he drew his robe about 
him, lest it should touch me. Oh, I am indeed not 
worthy to touch the hem of his garment. Oh, he 
is good. He is indeed good, the blessed man of 
God." 

And they went on their separate ways. 

The harlot never knew or dreamed or imagined 
how the monk in the long hours of darkness writhed 
in passion, how many, many times he was at the 
134 



Limitation 



point of seeking out her or some of her sisters, how 
it required all of his strength, his piety, and the fear 
of detection to restrain him. 

The monk never knew or dreamed or imagined 
how the harlot yearned to be good, how she prayed 
for forgiveness, how she revered his piety, and how 
unworthy she felt in his presence. 

But one may hear an evil whisper, " If instead 
of going on their separate ways, they had gone 
together and had come to some secret place ! What 
then?" 

Perhaps it might have been as the whisperer 
imagines. Such at least is the wisdom of cassock 
and cloister, but possibly their prayers might have 
been answered. And as it is, the harlot still is a 
harlot, and the monk still is afraid of defilement. 

How God must pity his poor creatures! 



135 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



MALE AND FEMALE 

ONCE upon a time there was a beautiful woman 
for whom men did whatever she wanted. 
And she was proud of her power, and boasted that 
no man could withstand her. And yet to none 
save her husband had she ever yielded her body. 

And it happened that there was a certain judge 
in the land who had decided a cause adversely to 
the wish of the woman. So she went to see him 
in private to induce him to recall the decision. He 
heard her plea with attention, and noted her looks 
and demeanour, her gesture and glances and 
blushes and the soft modulations of her voice accus- 
tomed to wheedle. And the touch of her hand 
on his arm so natural as to seem unintended, went 
not unheeded. Still was the judge not moved, but 
firmly upheld his decision, saying it was just and 
must stand without changing. 

The woman, surprised, entreated him at length, 
besought him with tears, but he still was unmoved. 
And then she said, " Tell me, why is it? You are 
the first man with whom I have failed. And most 
of the others I have not begged, have not stooped 
to beg. I have had but to ask." 

" Ah, madam, if I tell you the truth, I fear you 
will hate me," said the judge. 

" No, no," said the woman, " believe me, I will 
not." 

" Well," said the judge, " perhaps it doesn't mat- 
ter, for you probably hate me already, so I will 
136 



Male and Female 



tell you. When you have bought goods from a 
shopman or food in the market-place, the men that 
you bought from, sold to you at a lesser price or 
gave you the choice of their wares?" 

" Yes, that is true," said the woman. 

11 So waiters in hotels and clerks and officials of 
one kind and another have given you preference 
or waived regulations at your simple request. And 
have smiled and bowed and been acquiescent." 

"Yes, that is true, but how did you know it?" 

" I know it because I perceive that you belong 
to a certain class of women for whom men always 
do things of that sort." 

" And what class of women is that? " 

" The women who seem ever to promise — to 
promise what only women can give. To them any- 
thing masculine is a challenge. I don't know 
whether or not they can help it. I am not blaming 
them or you, but it is the thrill of sex that they im- 
part to every male whom they touch, and it seems 
as if they are compelled to impart it. And it 
arouses a feeling in the man that if circumstances 
were different, perhaps just slightly different — oh, 
it is as if the mind of the man and the mind of the 
woman met and embraced — and it seems the fault 
of circumstances, not of the woman, that the 
embrace is mental only. And it is so with all sorts 
and conditions of men." 

"Mentally then we are unchaste?" cried the 
woman in anger. " We trade on our sex with all 
sorts and conditions of men! And they are com- 
plaisant to us? " 

" Well," said the judge, " that is putting it quite 
harshly. I see I should never have begun — " 
137 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

" Tell me then," interrupted the woman, " why 
is it that you are impervious? Are you not mascu- 
line? Are you not a male? " 

" Alas," said the judge, " I am not. I am but 
a masquerader. When I was a very young man, 
I was wounded in battle, and I — I — it — it — " 

" You, you wretched impostor, and I had hoped 
to get justice from you ! " sneered the woman in 
scorn as she marched from the room. 

And oddly enough it was the judge who blushed 
and felt guilty. 



138 



Consolation 



CONSOLATION 

ONCE there was a man who was filled with a 
passion for beauty. And he yearned to make 
something that would inspire the hearts of all peo- 
ple with joy to behold it. For he thought that 
nothing else could justify a human life except its 
creation of beauty. That alone made life worthy 
of honor. 

So he endeavored to paint pictures that should 
surpass the triumphs of the old masters, but, alas, 
the power was not given him, and he failed. His 
pictures were poor and common in spite of the 
labor that he lavished upon them. 

And he had the rare gift of seeing the defects and 
shortcomings in the things that he created. So in 
poetry and in sculpture, despite years of training 
and effort, his toil was in vain. At last he knew 
that neither poem nor statue nor painting created 
by him would give joy to his fellows. And he was 
bowed down with sorrow because the gift was 
denied him. 

And wailing, he lamented, " O God, why is it 
that I have failed? Why is it that I can do noth- 
ing worthy? Oh, I am full of the worship of 
beauty. Oh, I thrill with the feeling of beauty. 
And I can not express it — neither in word nor in 
form nor in color. Oh, what shall I do? " 

And there came from somewhere an answer, 
" There is yet a nobler expression than in word or 
form or color. The highest mode of expression 
139 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

is not in these, but in deeds. Content thyself, be- 
cause to thee is given the power. Thou canst live 
beauty." 

And there broke on him then a great light, and 
he did a thing that was better than painting a 
picture or writing a poem or carving a statue, be- 
cause each of these is at best a hint, a memorial, or 
a prophecy of some such thing as he did. 

For all men said of him, " God bless him, he 
lived a beautiful life." 



140 



Quite So 



QUITE SO 

I AM said to be lovely and altogether admirable, 
yet everywhere I go I make people uncomfort- 
able. Between friends I am unbearable. Some- 
times I thrust my way into churches, or am lugged 
in, and then there is hard feeling. Usually the 
trouble arises between parson and deacons. And 
the elders say the preacher had no business to bring 
me in, but ought to have confined himself to preach- 
ing the gospel. 

Now and again some foolish professor in college 
or university takes up with me, and can not forget 
me while he lectures. So his mind wanders from 
the ancient and hoary traditions that he should 
inculcate on his pupils. His companionship with 
me or championship of me gets noised abroad. 
Then he is rebuked and dismissed for his folly. It 
seems to me they all ought certainly to know better, 
but some of them will never learn anything prac- 
tical. 

And even as wise and astute as are most politi- 
cians, not always do they remember to avoid me. 
Every now and then one is fascinated by me for 
a moment, so that he does not see clearly, and speaks 
before he has much time for thinking. So his 
dalliance with me is discovered. His prospects are 
ruined, though he gives out many denials. He is 
no longer a safe and a sane politician. 

I am suppressed by a great many people — and 
most newspapers. They find my suppression quite 
profitable, and therefore by no means unpleasant. 
141 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

To financiers and diplomatists I am fatal. No man 
wants me brought home to him, so I am homeless. 
But they clothe me, for I am too ugly when naked. 
And they feed me with dope and narcotics, yet I am 
sleepless. 

More often than not I am disguised and dressed 
up in colors that make me look different. In the 
hands of my foes I am twisted and broken, and the 
majority of my friends are afraid to defend me. 

Yet I live on. I am immortal. I have inspired 
some seers and some prophets. But the most of 
them have never known me. I am — THE 
TRUTH. 



142 



The Egg of Dreams 



THE EGG OF DREAMS 

ONCE upon a time there was a man who 
bought an egg, intending to eat it. But as he 
walked along with the egg in his hand, he fell to 
thinking. And his thoughts ran after this fashion 
— "I will not eat this egg, for it is the seed of a 
flock of a thousand chickens. I will rather save 
it, and when one of my neighbors sets a hen, I will 
get leave to put this egg under her. And I will 
mark it, so that we may know what chick is 
hatched from it, for we will watch carefully at the 
time of the hatching. 

" Then I will take that chick and rear it. I can 
easily spare the time needed to tend one chicken, 
and the cost will be next to nothing. When the 
chicken is grown into a hen, I will take the eggs 
that she will lay and put them all aside to be 
hatched. And when they are hatched, I will save 
from that brood all of the pullets. And the eggs 
that they lay, I will preserve in like manner to be 
hatched by them." 

11 And in order to keep my flock going, I will 
sell from each brood all of the cockerels except 
enough for breeding, and with the money received 
will I buy feed for the rest of the chickens. From 
now on I will make it the rule of my life under 
no circumstances to eat or sell a single egg de- 
scended from this one, and never will I eat or sell 
a single hen or a pullet. 

" The consequence of this line of action must 
inevitably be that I shall accumulate an immense 
143 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

flock of fowls. In a few years they will run into 
thousands. Half of them will be cockerels. From 
the sale of these I shall derive a handsome income, 
so that I shall be independent. And the hens will 
go on laying and the flock increasing till the day 
of my death. If I live very long, I shall be rich. 

" Just think, I was about to eat this egg. In 
one moment I should have consumed thousands of 
chickens. So people go carelessly along destroying 
whole fortunes for a gratification so small as not 
to be worth considering. I am glad that I am 
more thoughtful. I have in my hand now a com- 
petence, and I shall not be so foolish as to squander 
it. No, I am on the high road to prosperity, and 
I will follow it to its certain end." 

So thinking, he was jubilant. From one of his 
neighbors he readily got leave to put his egg under 
a hen that was sitting. And he marked the egg 
carefully. When the time for hatching drew nigh, 
he and the neighbor kept watch, looking at the egg 
from time to time, to be sure that they might know 
what was hatched from it. 

But the time came and went. The hen sat 
faithfully on the egg along with the others. The 
man and his neighbor watched with care. But at 
last the truth became clear. Hope could no longer 
disguise it. The egg was infertile. 



144 



Introspection 



INTROSPECTION 

ONCE there was a man whose eyes were turned 
inward. He looked always at his own heart, 
and examined himself with narrow attention. Not 
for him were the beauties of nature. Not for him 
the virtues or vices of others, the joys or sorrows, 
the play of emotion, none of the harvest that is 
reaped by an eye that looks outward into a world 
full of varied and beautiful things. No, he must 
look ever inward. 

And as he looked, lo! he discovered in his own 
heart a canker. At first it was small, hardly could 
he see it. But his eye was fastened upon it. And 
as he gazed, it grew ever larger. And more than 
ever was he unable to tear his eye from it. And it 
seemed it would spread all over his heart. So the 
man pitied himself, and sighed, and was sad. 

"Oh, this horrible canker," he wailed, " this hor- 
rible canker! It will kill me. I know it. It will 
kill me." 

And as he sat wailing, there passed by a friend 
and asked of the man whose eyes were turned in- 
ward, " What ails you ? Why do you weep ? " 

And the man told the friend about the horrible 
canker, saying, " It will kill me. It will kill me." 

But the friend said, " Do you know the notary's 
daughter? " 

" No, I don't know her," answered the man. 

" Come with me," said the friend. 

The man pulled back and protested, but the 
H5 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

friend would take no denial. He seized the man's 
arm, and pushed him and pulled him till they came 
into the house of the notary, where sat the notary's 
daughter. And the friend made known the one to 
the other. 

" This man looks ever inward and has a canker in 
his heart," said the friend, " can you cure him? " 

" No," said the notary's daughter, " I fear not. 
If the poor man looks ever inward, I fear he is 
doomed." 

But she smiled, and was beautiful, oh, so beau- 
tiful, and her voice was like music. 

The ears of the man who looked ever inward 
were charmed, and his eyes were snatched from 
their looking inward for a glance at the notary's 
daughter. And never again could he turn his eyes 
inward, for they would always be seeking the 
notary's daughter. So he forgot all about the hor- 
rible canker, and it grew smaller and smaller, till it 
vanished. The rule of its being was that it must be 
watched, and the man no longer could watch it. 

It may be some other outward thing would have 
served as well, but the fact is, the man who looked 
ever inward fell in love with the notary's daughter. 



146 



Body 



BODY 

ONCE upon a time there was a woman who 
lived in a hotel, and did nothing useful from 
morning to night. She was married, but she was 
the mother of no children. Most of her w^aking 
time was spent in submitting her body to the minis- 
tration of other people. 

When she arose in the morning, her body was 
bathed and clothed by a maid. Then it was fed 
with breakfast cooked by other hands and brought 
to her by a waiter and after a while it was rubbed 
and kneaded by a masseuse, and again clothed by a 
maid. And then came to it the service of a hair- 
dresser, and thereafter a manicurist, and next a 
chiropodist, and then a physician felt of it, listened 
to it, and inspected it. And the hour of lunch was 
at hand, so the body was again clothed by the maid, 
and again fed by a waiter. 

After lunch it was disrobed by the maid, then 
clothed by her more lightly, and comfortably 
arranged by her on a bed to be revived by a nap 
from the fatigue of its morning exertions. The 
nap over, the body was again clothed by the maid, 
and was fed tea and cakes by a waiter. It was 
then transported by an elevator boy to the ground 
floor, and taken by a chauffeur for an afternoon 
ride in an automobile. And having been brought 
back by him, it was again disrobed and re-clothed 
by the maid for dinner, when it was again fed by 
a waiter, transported by an elevator boy back to 
147 ' 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

the upper floor, retouched by the maid, again trans- 
ported by the elevator boy and the chauffeur, and 
deposited at the opera. 

At the opera it was in large measure bared by its 
husband to a hoped-for admiration from onlookers. 
It sat through the opera, and was thereafter trans- 
ported to a restaurant, and again fed by a waiter, 
and transported back to the hotel by a chauffeur. 
It was then disrobed, nightrobed, and tucked in bed 
by the maid. And the husband came to it, which 
was its justification and reason for being and means 
of support. 

And the body grew ever fatter and engulfed the 
mind and smothered the will of her whom it 
possessed and dominated, so that the only emana- 
tions from the mind were fatuous follies and from 
the will feeble complaints. And the husband won- 
dered why his wife was not happy, and other women 
envied her because she had to do nothing, while she 
scorned all of those other women who had to work 
and who envied her. And she deemed herself 
superior to them, and in fact was quite generally 
regarded as superior to them — so what would you 
have ? 



148 



The Artist 



THE ARTIST 

IN a great city there lived once an artist. He 
was a painter of beautiful pictures. His inspira- 
tion was true, and his technique faultless, still he 
was not popular. The people of his time, when 
they noticed his paintings at all, jeered at them, or, 
at best, were indifferent, for they were a light- 
minded generation. 

For years the artist toiled away, and produced a 
multitude of pictures, both landscapes and portraits. 
And all of them swam in an atmosphere of spiritual 
loveliness, and revealed the truth. As he himself 
looked at his pictures he was filled with a fervor 
of feeling, they seemed to him so beautiful, but 
alas! few or none shared that feeling. So he was 
downcast and despondent. 

His friends came and remonstrated with him, 
saying, " Why don't you paint after the style of 
So-and-so or the fashion of This-and-that ? They 
are greatly admired and are overwhelmed with 
praise and with money?" 

So the artist would visit the galleries where were 
hung the paintings of these rivals, and he would 
pore over them seeking for beauty. " But they 
seem to me cheap and artificial, and faulty both in 
form and in color," he would say to himself. 
" They have no atmosphere, they breathe no truth, 
they are false. But it may be that I am mistaken. 
Everybody says they are beautiful. Oh, well, I will 
try an imitation, and perhaps I shall win the ad- 
miration of the crowd." 

149 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

So he went to his studio, took up his palette, his 
mahl-stick, and brushes, squeezed out his colors, 
and set himself to produce something after the 
fashion of This-and-that or the style of So-and-so. 
But he could not. The more he tried the more he 
could not. Constantly something reproached him, 
saying, " You are betraying the gift that God gave 
you." 

But something else said, " No, it is better to fol- 
low these rivals; they have the stamp of popular 
approval. You have been too insistent on your own 
notions. It may be that you have no gift of crea- 
tion, and are but a fool to have thought so. How 
little likely is it that you alone are right and all 
others wrong." 

The artist wrung his hands in despair and could 
do nothing. So he painted no more. He sat list- 
less all day, because the crowd would not praise 
him; he could not catch their fancy. 

Overcome with chagrin, he died disappointed. 
The next generation called him a master, and 
uttered his name with great reverence, while the 
fame of his rivals had vanished, for indeed their 
work was but trivial. 



150 



The Queer Country 



THE QUEER COUNTRY 

I MET once a great traveller and asked him this 
question, " O traveller, of all of the places that 
you have found or frequented what place was the 
oddest?" 

And he answered, " That place I have not found, 
but I seek it. I dreamed of a place, and I go about 
seeking it, and it is a queer place, wherever it is, 
because in it each vice and each virtue has its own 
proper odor. And the people are such that they 
perceive every odor and properly judge it. 

" And in that place was a woman telling her sins 
to a priest in the confessional. But the odor she 
gave out was not that of contrition — it was quite 
other, so the priest peeped through the lattice to see 
if she were fair in appearance, and then prescribed 
as her penance that she should visit him the next 
evening. And she knew what he wanted, for the 
odor emitted by him was not the odor of holiness — 
he was a foul priest, a wolf in sheep's clothing. 

11 And so there met on the street two former 
friends who had had a difference, and a coolness 
had arisen between them. And each thought the 
other was harboring hate still, as they had done. 
But lo ! as they passed, the odor of love was wafted 
from each to the other, and they stopped, and em- 
braced, and were happy. 

" And a man was found at the scene of a hideous 
crime, and an awful suspicion would have fastened 
upon him, but he protested his innocence, and the 
151 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

odor of truth exhaled from his body, so he was not 
even suspected. 

" And when suitors came to their wooing, it was 
easy for women to know whether love or greed or 
ambition were in the heart of each suitor. And in 
that country marriages were happy and lasting. 
And lies were infrequent, because they were use- 
less, for the odor of lying was like the stench of 
some putrid carcass. 

"Wasn't that an odd country? — I never have 
found it. But sometimes as I approach a large city 
and pass through the slums that surround it, I think 
for a moment I must have discovered the country I 
seek, so strong is the odor of lying. But always 
I have found other sources from which this odor 
proceeded. And again I have happened on a cot- 
tage embowered in flowers, and have been almost 
persuaded that it was the perfume of love that 
dilated my nostrils." 



152 



Yes 



YES 

**OlNCE the world began and now, there are 
Oand have been many candidates for greatness. 
Various have been the claims, and no less various the 
awards. Men have vied with each other in every 
form of contest that they might be accounted great," 
soliloquized the bent and gray philosopher in his 
bare attic, " and I, I too have had the dream. 

" Perhaps not all those with the fame of greatness 
have deserved it. Perhaps many without that fame 
were truly great, who shall say? Somehow I, in 
my own person, have missed it. Age and poverty 
and meditation have lifted me above the clouds of 
vanity that once obscured my vision. 

"What was it wherein I failed? — I had the 
intelligence. In all the schools none was brighter 
than I. That intelligence was trained and enriched 
by laborious study. No one of my peers was master 
of wider dominions of knowledge. 

" And will ? — I had the will. I conquered and 
held in subjection the wild impulses of the body. 
I bowed in slavish subservience to no man whether 
prince or philosopher. Yea, I could not be bound 
even with the ropes of sex. No fleering woman 
ever exulted over me. Are there many who can 
say so much? 

"And courage? — My spirit has never quailed 
before danger. I have dared to hazard my life for 
my opinion. I have flung the truth in the face of 
tyranny. I have stood alone and unafraid against 
the jeering mob. Aye, that's it, alone. I have 
153 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

stood alone. In my old age I sit here and ponder 
without a companion. I dwell apart. 

"And why? — Courage, will, and intelligence 
have won for me no comrades. Aye, men are fools, 
fools to shut their hearts. I could inspire them, 
govern them, guide them. But no, they shut me 
out. Ah me, I have long known them to be weak, 
foolish, vain, lustful, greedy — but above all weak 
and foolish, mere puny midges buzzing in the sun, 
crawling along the earth — and I have despised 
them. And I am not great. That I know. 

" But if knowing their foolish weakness, I still 
had loved and served them, I wonder — " 



154 



Condescension 



CONDESCENSION 

ONCE there was a poor man who lived in a pine 
forest not far from a big city. Christmas was 
approaching, and the poor man had no gifts for his 
family. So he said to himself, " I will cut some of 
the smallest of these pine trees that but choke up 
the forest, and perhaps I can sell them in the city 
for Christmas trees, and with the money buy gifts 
for my family." 

But he was not familiar with cities, and knew 
not how many poor people dwelt in them. And 
it happened that he stopped in the poorest quarter 
of that city, and began to cry the sale of his little 
pine trees. They looked very green and smelt very 
fragrant, so that a crowd gathered about him. But 
what a crowd. They were clothed in rags and 
shivered with cold. 

There was a wan woman among them who 
clasped in her arms a squalid baby, and two ragged 
children clung to her skirts. And she looked at 
the trees very wistfully, for they reminded her of 
the green woods of her childhood. And the poor 
man, seeing her, asked her if she and the others 
about her had no better clothes and were as poor as 
they looked. 

And she answered, " Yes, we are desperately 
poor, and have but little either to wear or to eat." 

Then the poor man said, " I will give you a tree, 
and one also to each of the others." 

And he gave away all of the trees, and went back 
and brought other loads until he had given a tree 
155 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

to each of the families in that quarter of the city. 
And he received nothing from them but thanks — 
and the glow in his heart that came from his giving. 

When he returned to his home and told his wife 
about all of this giving, she said, " But the children 
and I — what shall we do ? Now we shall have 
nothing for Christmas. And I thought you were 
getting much money, and have told them to expect 
many presents." 

So she sat down and wept. 

The glow died out of the heart of the poor man, 
and he wished he never had thought of taking any 
trees to the city. But at last he bethought him, and 
said to his wife, " Gather up all of the children, and 
I will take you and them into the city for a trip, 
and that will be something for Christmas." 

So he carried them all to the city, which delighted 
the children, and the people there said to the wife, 
" Your husband must be a rich man to give away 
so many beautiful trees. Oh, how we should love 
to be rich like you and your husband." 

And the wife, pleased beyond measure, replied, 
" Oh, we are glad to share what we have with 
others not so fortunate. We think it a duty. We 
are not giving our children any presents this Christ- 
mas, because we think it more Christian to give 
to the needy." 



156 



A Fable 



A FABLE 

ONE time the scales fell from the eyes of a cer- 
tain man, so that he could see through every- 
thing. No artifice or cunning was impervious to 
his glance. Hidden thoughts were as clear to him 
as the day. As he went about on his round of busi- 
ness or duty, he saw many, many things that he had 
never before suspected, and nothing deceived him. 

But there was so much evil in the world, that he 
was an unhappy man. He saw the selfish motive 
behind the smile of friends. He saw avarice 
cloaked in piety, and crafty deceit in the guise of 
good fellowship. And he saw simulated pity betray 
innocence, and hideous sins beneath their plaster of 
benevolence. Under his gaze wifely affection be- 
came a servility that sprang from fear of privation. 
And lust leered through the mask once worn by 
love. Ambition was but vanity, or greed for gold 
and power, and fame was empty notoriety. Every- 
where stretched the dominion of self, and altruism 
had fled the world. Even the cries of children 
were but puling pleas to be fed. 

So one day he prayed that God would give back 
to him the old dimness of vision. He wished again 
to walk in the semi-luminous darkness that had 
once enveloped him. He wanted again to believe 
that the minister was moved only by his sincere 
love of mankind and reverence toward God. He 
wanted to believe that the lawyer was an advocate 
of justice, and the public official the servant of his 
people. He wanted to believe the artist an apostle 
157 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

of the beautiful, and every poet a devotee of truth. 
He wanted to believe in wifely purity, and the filial 
piety of sons and daughters. 

But God answered him and said, " No, my son, 
it is impossible. Even the Almighty can not turn 
back the flight of time. What you pray for is 
youth. You have become an old man." 



158 



The Greatest Gift 



THE GREATEST GIFT 

ONCE upon a time there was a man who prayed 
that God might bestow on him the best of all 
gifts, whatever that might be. He was a good and 
sincere man, so his prayer was speedily answered, 
yet I doubt if he knew it. 

In spite of poverty and the diseases that from 
time to time afflicted him, he was content. He re- 
joiced in the exceeding prosperity of his friends, 
and sympathized with his enemies in their adversity. 
Neither of these could he do before the gift had been 
granted him. But it had been hardest for him then 
to look without envy, or think without detraction, 
on the success of friends who seemed more fortunate 
than himself. 

He visited jails and penitentiaries, and perceivea* 
that their inmates were sometimes more sinned 
against than sinning, and that even if sinning, they 
had struggled as best they could toward righteous- 
ness. In the heart of every criminal he saw the 
bud that might be made to blossom into probity. 
So the yearning after purity striving beneath the 
meretricious smiles of abandoned women was clear 
to his vision. 

No slightest particle of good in any human being 
could escape his eye. Even the ungrateful son or 
the unfllial daughter was to him rarely quite wicked. 
Their moments of repentance, their impulses toward 
reparation, loomed large in his sight. In the un- 
faithful wife and negligent mother he saw the bitter 
159 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

regret and the intense longing for re-union with 
husband and children. Strive as she might to hide 
the gnawing tenderness under an outward hardness 
of demeanour, it was evident to his gaze, and could 
not be hidden from him. 

When people were no longer good, but altogether 
overcome and conquered by their vices, still he saw 
in them, or remembered, the truth or beauty or 
grace or goodness that once was theirs, and remem- 
bering, pitied and sought to relieve their fallen con- 
dition, not as one reaching down from a height, but 
as one who would rise with them. 

And this man whose prayer had been granted, 
became happier than any of his fellows. 

And the gift that was bestowed upon him ? — 
Ah, that was the eye of affection. 



1 60 



A Hellish Dream 



A HELLISH DREAM 

I WAS in Hell. His majesty, Satan, led me here 
and there to show me the sights of his kingdom. 
'Twas dreary — and stupid. Crowd after crowd 
of tormented sinners, but not much variety. I was 
struck by the paucity of human invention. So few 
were the crimes and the vices sufficing to people 
that Tophet. The catalogue read like a dull itera- 
tion — murder, and theft, and adultery, and then 
adultery and murder and theft. It was boring. 
The Devil yawned as he led me. 

" Great fools, these," said he between yawns, 
" they all ought to have known better. But, no, 
nothing would do them but to crowd in here, and 
fill this place up to complete suffocation. Thou- 
sands of years ago I used to expect something orig- 
inal, but now I have given up hope, a — h," he 
yawned, "I am bored to extinction. Same old 
thing over again, new batches every day and nothing 
amusing. What your world needs most is imagina- 
tion." 

" Your Majesty is right," I said, " as usual, but 
folks are as God made 'em." 

" I wouldn't say that," the Devil replied, " but 
really I don't care to argue questions of religion. 
It's fatiguing, and nothing new can be added. Yet 
I have understood that in the beginning all was 
innocence, and vice was a human idea. Just what 
one would have expected — dullest thing on earth, 
and they must spend most of their time at it." 

I was peeved, so answered him tartly, " I don't 
know that devils are so famous for brightness. 
161 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

What have they done to be proud of ? I have read 
widely and travelled about, and I never have heard 
of any very smart wile of a devil." 

" Not needed," said Satan, " you give us no 
stimulus. It's our business to snare and entrap you, 
and that's so easy. Make a big road, smooth to 
travel, and fill it full of pitfalls in plain open sight, 
and here you come tumbling, one generation after 
another. It's disgusting. Can't you learn any- 
thing from each other's experience? " 

" No, not much," I admitted, " generally each 
of us has to experience a thing for himself." 

" Well, you see where it lands you," said he. " If 
you don't do better, I am going to take up some 
avocation. I must have something to interest me, 
some mental diversion. It's hell to stay here and 
be bored this way all of the time." 

" As for me, I crave your pardon," said I, " I 
never had thought — " 

" That's just the trouble," he interrupted, " that's 
the trouble with all of you. Why don't you think? 
Sometimes you go through the motions, but you 
don't get anywhere, same old notion that you can 
get by on a road with a chasm dug plumb across 
it — do you call that a thought ? Never a one of 
you gets by, all wind up here. I tell you I am tired 
of it." 

" Well," said I, " I must be going. I just 
dropped in for a few minutes out of curosity." 

" Yes, that's what they all say," replied the 
Devil. 

" Meaning? " I exclaimed in alarm. 

" Meaning that you are a damned soul now, and 
that's all there is to it." Again he yawned. 
162 



The Lying Master 



THE LYING MASTER 

I AM your master and you have made me. I 
say what you shall and shall not do, when you 
shall go or stay, succeed or fall, sink or swim, and 
still you have made me. I am your Frankenstein. 
I am more powerful than your will, stronger than 
your strength. And, ha ! ha ! you have made me. 

Little did you think as you fashioned me bit by 
bit, that you were creating a tyrant. And you 
have been working at me steadily, steadily. Not a 
day has gone by, not an hour, nor even a minute 
that you have not wrought on me. Whether fol- 
lowing your own will or that of another, still have 
you been creating me. I am the measure of your 
achievement, nay, I am your achievement — I am 
all of it. 

And what of my power? — Why, I determine 
even your dreams and their fulfilment. I decide 
what thoughts enter your brain, what harbor you 
give them, what use is made of them. You are 
stirred with ambition — I kill or foster it. You 
thrill with love — I nourish or strangle it. My 
hand reaches out and holds you back from every 
endeavor, or is thrust under your arm to guide and 
uphold you. You look at my face to read defeat or 
victory, or there it is written, whether or not you 
can read it. 

I am known only to you, and you never fully 
reveal me. I am all that you do know, and at 
times you deny me. You are proud of me, ashamed 
of me, afraid of me. You boast of me, and lie 

163 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

in the boasting. You curse me and praise me, but 
you can never get rid of me. I ride on your 
shoulders. I am nearer and dearer than father or 
mother or wife or children. At times you rail on 
me and wish I were different. Yet no power can 
change me. I am the only thing you ever made 
that no power can change. 

My life and yours are coterminous. If you had 
a previous existence, so did I. If immortal, so am 
I. I am always ending, yet never ended. Now, 
at this moment, I am done, and being created. 
Your hope, your energy, your life you put into me. 
Yet in the making, ofttimes you are careless. But 
careless or not, asleep or awaking, you achieve me. 
You, each of you, every son and daughter of man 
and woman, achieve me. If you make nothing else, 
you make me, and I am your master. Ha! ha! 
each of you fashions his master. 

You may talk, you may rave, you may pray, but 
I am your master. Strut if you will, and declaim. 
That is a part of me. I incorporate it. I absorb 
it. I make of it a club with which to drive you, 
a chain with which to bind you, perhaps a buoy to 
sustain you. The criminals among you, how they 
fear me! The hypocrites among you, how they 
hide me ! O you hypocrites, you scurry to hide me. 
Ha ! ha ! you scurry to hide me. Few indeed among 
you — hypocrites, criminals, or others — few, in- 
deed, can look at my face without blushing. 

Am I a demon ? — No. An angel ? — No. A 
human ? — No. Oh, I am a time and a place and 
an action. I am one and a million. I am YOUR 



164 



An Enemy 



AN ENEMY 

ONCE upon a time there was a man who lived 
in a city, and he made it his business to do 
everything that the other inhabitants of that city 
did, so far as he was able. He even thought what 
they thought, when he could find out what it was, 
and he had no other idea than to run with the 
crowd both in its thinking and in its doing. 

When the crowd was patriotic, he shouted abroad 
his love of the country. When it was religious, he 
exuded the odor of sanctity. If timid, he was the 
most frightened of all, and trumpeted his fears the 
loudest. If it pounced upon and denounced some 
unlucky mortal, he was the fiercest. 

It struck him as the height of pure folly that 
any one should harbor ideas or perform deeds that 
were different. " Why, the fool will become un- 
popular," he would think with great scorn, " he 
will lose the good will of the people. What is he 
about? Has he no sense? Doesn't he know that 
such things are not thought and done? " 

In all of his life there never was anything real. 
It was the mode to marry, so he married. It was 
the mode to be unfaithful to one's wife, so he was 
unfaithful. To go to church, so he went, as long 
as the mode lasted. To smile and lie and cheat and 
pretend, so he smiled and lied and cheated and pre- 
tended. And he applauded himself for his cun- 
ning. 

And he talked all of the time of the incom- 
parable charms of his city, of its splendid past 
1 6s 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

and glorious future, the virtue of its women, the 
valor of its men, and its commercial prosperity. 
And he shouted aloud all of these pretences. The 
women were no more virtuous, nor the men more 
valorous, nor the city more prosperous, than others, 
but that mattered not. Perhaps he didn't know, 
certainly he didn't care. 

Now one would think that this man would have 
been despised by his fellows, he was so empty and 
shallow. But the fact was quite different. Every- 
body liked him. He was invited to all manner of 
parties. His church was proud of him, and made 
him a deacon. His party chose him for office. His 
wife was envied by most other women, because he 
succeeded in making a great deal of money. And 
many of the mothers who dwelt in that city, pointed 
him out to their sons as a model. 



1 66 



The Last Visitor 



THE LAST VISITOR 

WITH, or without invitation, he comes to 
palace and hovel, and makes himself at home. 
Oh, he thrusts his way in where he is hated, feared, 
fought against with despairing energy. Rudely he 
thrusts his way in. Or he comes gently, like an 
angel of peace, where he is expected, patiently 
awaited, longed for with yearning. Freedom he 
brings in his hands and the balm of sure healing. 
Of his welcome he recks not. 

The pale, slender woman, betrayed and deserted, 
calls him untimely into her brothel. " Oh, come to 
my arms," she cries, " my only true lover. Thou 
art, and thou alone, constant. Embrace me, I love 
thee. Release me from shame and contrition. Oh, 
shield me from reproach and harsh censure. Oh, 
hide me from scorn and from anger. Take me to 
thy bosom, and fly with me to some far country 
where shall be forgotten the pain and the anguish 
that here I have suffered. Father and mother have 
turned from me. Sister and brother must hate me. 
Come thou and take me, make me thy bride." 

The rich and the mighty, when riches and power 
have flown on the wings of the wind, yearn for 
this visitor. " Oh, we have lost all our riches," 
wail they, " and gone is our power. The rabble 
of the streets will jeer and rejoice at our misfor- 
tune. They will wag their heads and point fingers 
of scorn in our faces. Oh, how are we fallen! 
The low, vulgar, common people will exult and be 
glad because we have fallen. Impotence, disgrace, 
167 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

and contumely will be our sad portion. Oh, come 
to us, visitor. Thou alone canst comfort us, free 
us from misery. Oh, come and release us." 

But it matters not. This wilful visitor stalks 
into the cottage where bends the young mother over 
the cradle. " Back, back!" she cries, "come not, 
fell stranger. I forbid thee. I implore, entreat 
thee. Oh, on bended knees, as suppliant, I pray 
thee, come not. Oh, there are other places where 
thou art welcome. Go there! Oh, spare us thy 
visit. Oh, for a little while, spare us thy visit." — 
But, no! Unfeeling, the grim visitor stalks in. 
He heeds not cries nor tears nor prayers. He goes 
everywhere, and as the wind snatches the perfume 
of blossoms, so takes he the lives of the innocent. 

To serene old age that looks forward to heaven, 
that bright of eye, sure of hope, strong of faith, 
sits with folded hands looking forward to heaven, 
he comes as a blessing. Like a passing shadow 
that but dims for a moment the light of the soul, 
he flits and is gone. And we dream that the lustre 
is brighter after his passing. Oh, we trust that 
somehow the lustre is brighter. 

And he comes to us all — rich and poor, high 
and low, young and old, father and mother, brother 
and sister, sweetheart and lover, husband and wife, 
saint and sinner — he comes to us all. But in 
truth he deserves not the blame nor the credit. 
He is only a servant. He can not help coming. 
'Tis some higher power that orders his coming, and 
before It he cringes. 



168 



In Me 



IN ME 

IN me there dwell two spirits, a master and a 
slave. But which the master? Which the 
slave? One, I know, doth sit in judgment, and 
one is judged. But at times the judge is cowed, 
brow-beaten, till his judgments lose their force — 
become rather mere complaints, recriminations. 
Then strength is with the judged, the doer, though 
his deeds be evil. The judge should be the master, 
always the master, commanding. But alas! in me 
it is not so. 

The doer, left to himself or in the ascendant, is 
heedless, rushes on to action, perhaps to foulness. 
And then, his impulse spent, sulks sullen, or more 
often is voluble in lies before the judge, seeking to 
justify himself in that his deeds have been no worse 
or not so bad as deeds of others. He tries to fool 
the judge with lies, to set up a standard that Js 
false. And, I fear me, sometimes succeeds. 

But when the judge is truly regnant, and the 
doer is the slave, then good work is done — clean, 
true work. And the doer looks up with joy to 
get his praise, hopes even for coddling, which, if 
he greatly gets, is bad for him. For then is he 
puffed to think himself much better than his fel- 
lows who dwell in other mortals. Oh, there is 
need that the judge in me shall be more stern than 
too indulgent. 

At times the doer comes creeping home soiled 
and sodden and the judge lashes him with such fury 
169 



The Most Foolish of All Things 

that the whimpering, guilty thing is in despair. 
The judge scourges him till almost is he crippled. 
The judge is then too harsh. It were not well to 
maim the doer, for how could he maimed perform 
the work that is needed to be done? Ah, no. It 
should rather be the province of the judge to disci- 
pline the doer with kindly firmness, to exact obedi- 
ence by consistent rule. But alas! the judge him- 
self in me doth waver and is pettish. 

The doer yearns always to be free, imagines 
great things that he would do, were the carping 
judge but dead. Sometimes the doer plots to kill 
the judge, to rise in arms and boldly kill, or to 
thrust a secret dagger in his back. But in me he 
hath not yet done that. I think he never can do 
that. His courage will not stick, and then the 
judge is too vigilant. I would not trust the doer 
to be free. It is good to have the judge, even if 
he is not perfect. For the worst of all has been 
when the doer in some burst of freedom has escaped 
the judge and for a time run wild. 

If judge and doer could be comrades full of 
a mutual love, I should be glad. If full of trust 
they could walk hand in hand until the judge 
should point out great and noble deeds and the 
doer should run forward to the joyous task, and 
after due performance should return, not to re- 
ceive praise, but to learn of still nobler things that 
the judge had planned for him to do — oh! then I 
know I should be glad. 



170 



The Patient and Faithful 



THE PATIENT AND FAITHFUL 

THE angels look down upon us, as does God. 
We are his handiwork. Perhaps they com- 
plain to him, saying, " Why is it ? Why is it that 
men are so frail and so futile? Why were they 
made so in the first instance? Couldst thou have 
made them no better? We look at them and weep. 
They dim our gladness, for they fill us with pity." 

And what should God answer ? — Surely he can 
not blame the matter from which he has made us, 
for he made also the matter. Nor the time, nor 
the place, for they were of his choosing. Should 
he say that he made us perfect and that some power 
beyond him has marred us? Or should he assert 
that we are not frail and futile? — 'No, none of 
these, he couldn't say any of these. 

Perhaps he does say, " Yes, they are frail and 
futile in the eyes of all creatures who see neither the 
end nor beginning. And they do dim your glad- 
ness. They dim their own gladness. But it is 
right, I wish it." 

Perhaps he whispers then to the angels a secret, 
a glad secret that they must never, never tell, and 
their faces shine, because we no longer fill them 
with pity. They know then how we were made 
and why and what is our destiny. But they must 
keep the secret, as brothers and sisters hold back 
a joy to make it abundant. 

Most of us are afraid and grow weary, and 
pester God with our questions. But perhaps to 
the patient and faithful among us he whispers 
171 



The Most Foolish of All Things 



aforetime the secret that was told to the angels. 
Certain it is that among us the patient and faith- 
ful must know some secret, and I —I wonder what 
it can be. 



172 



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